To win, beloved Caroline from thee, One thought, in years when we shall sever'd be-- --Sever'd, perchance, by those deep waves, which pour Their billowy murmurs round our native shore,-- For this, I wander'd round the Bow'rs of Song, A weary, and rejected suppliant long, And of the Muses crav'd in humblest tone From their rich wreaths, one simple bud alone: They did but fling their wildest weeds at me, And thus I twin'd them into verse for thee!
Eliza ActonRelated topics
caroline deep pour rich round shore simple song thee thought thus win years weedsRelated quotes
Know Thyself. All else will be known to thee of its own accord. Discriminate between the undying, unchanging, all-pervading, infinite Atma and the ever-changing, phenomenal and perishable universe and body. Enquire, "Who am I?" Make the mind calm. Free yourself from all thoughts other than the simple thought of the Self or Atma. Dive deep into the chambers of your heart. Find out the real, infinite "I". Rest there peacefully for ever and become identical with the Supreme Self.
Ramana Maharshi
I have respect for mother nature's methods of robustness (billions of years allow most of what is fragile to break); classical thought is more robust (in its respect for the unknown, the epistemic humility) than the modern post-Enlightenment naïve pseudoscientific autism. Thus my classical values make me advocate the triplet of erudition, elegance, and courage; against modernity's phoniness, nerdiness and philistinism.
Nassim Nicholas Taleb
We got rich by violating one of the central tenets of economics: thou shall not sell off your capital and call it income. And yet over the past 40 years we have clear-cut the forests, fished rivers and oceans to the brink of extinction and siphoned oil from the earth as if it possessed an infinite supply. We've sold off our planet's natural capital and called it income. And now the earth, like the economy, is stripped.
Kalle Lasn
Cupid and my Campaspe play'd
At cards for kisses-Cupid paid:
He stakes his quiver, bow, and arrows,
His mother's doves, and team of sparrows;
Loses them too; then down he throws
The coral of his lips, the rose
Growing one's cheek (but none knows how);
With these, the crystal of his brow,
And then the dimple of his chin:
All these did my Campaspe win.
At last he set her both his eyes-
She won, and Cupid blind did rise.
O Love! has she done this for thee?
What shall, alas! become of me?
John Lyly
For a man can lose neither the past nor the future; for how can one take from him that which is not his? So remember these two points: first, that each thing is of like form from everlasting and comes round again in its cycle, and that it signifies not whether a man shall look upon the same things for a hundred years or two hundred, or for an infinity of time; second, that the longest lived and the shortest lived man, when they come to die, lose one and the same thing.
Marcus Aurelius
