NewmanC. Scribner's sons, 1904 - 225 pages |
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Popular passages
Page 9 - Can it be that those mysterious stirrings of heart, and keen emotions, and strange yearnings after we know not what, and awful impressions from we know not whence, should be wrought in us by what is unsubstantial, and comes and goes, and begins and ends in itself? It is not so; it cannot be. No; they have escaped from some higher sphere; they are the outpourings of eternal harmony in the medium of created sound; they are echoes from our Home; they are the voice of Angels, or the Magnificat of Saints,...
Page 105 - The heart is commonly reached, not through the reason, but through the imagination, by means of direct impressions, by the testimony of facts and events, by history, by description. Persons influence us, voices melt us, looks subdue us, deeds inflame us.
Page 32 - I understood these passages to mean that the exterior world, physical and historical, was but the manifestation to our senses of realities greater than itself. Nature was a parable : Scripture was an allegory : pagan literature, philosophy, and mythology, properly understood, were but a preparation for the Gospel. The Greek poets and sages were in a certain sense prophets; for "thoughts beyond their thought to those high bards were given.
Page 147 - Some heavenly music, which even now I do, To work mine end upon their senses that This airy charm is for, I'll break my staff, Bury it certain fathoms in the earth, And deeper than did ever plummet sound I'll drown my book.
Page 114 - ... heart, I should be an atheist, or a pantheist, or a polytheist when I looked into the world. I am speaking for myself only; and I am far from denying the real force of the arguments in proof of a God, drawn from the general facts of human society...
Page 1 - The fellows or monks of my time were decent easy men, who supinely enjoyed the gifts of the founder ; their days were filled by a series of uniform employments ; the chapel and the hall, the coffee-house and the common room, till they retired, weary and well satisfied, to a long slumber.
Page 10 - I used to wish the Arabian Tales were true : my imagination ran on unknown influences, on magical powers, and talismans I thought life might be a dream, or I an Angel, and all this world a deception, my fellow- angels by a playful device concealing themselves from me, and deceiving me with the semblance of a material world.
Page 124 - I am what I am, or I am nothing. I cannot think, reflect, or judge about my being, without starting from the very point which I aim at concluding. My ideas are all assumptions, and I am ever moving in a circle. I cannot avoid being sufficient for myself, for I cannot make myself anything else, and to change me is to destroy me.
Page 81 - It is almost prophetic from its knowledge of history ; it is almost heart-searching from its knowledge of human nature ; it has almost supernatural charity from its freedom from littleness and prejudice ; it has almost the repose of faith, because nothing can startle it ; it has almost the beauty and harmony of heavenly contemplation, so intimate is it with the eternal order of things and the music of the spheres.
Page 57 - of years, in which the stars of this lower heaven were one by one going out ? I could not in cool blood, nor except upon the imperious call of duty, attempt what I have set myself to do. It is both to head and heart an extreme trial, thus to analyze what has so long gone by, and to bring out the results of that examination.