It is a terrible thought, that nothing is ever forgotten; that not an oath is ever uttered that does not continue to vibrate through all times, in the wide spreading current of sound; that not a prayer is lisped, that its record is not to be found st
Interpretation
This quote explores the permanence of our words and actions, suggesting that they have lasting effects through time.
William Cowper's quote reflects on the profound idea that every spoken word, oath, or prayer leaves an indelible mark on the universe. It suggests that our expressions carry significance beyond the moment they are uttered, reverberating through time and affecting the world around us. This invites us to consider the weight of our words and the responsibility we have to speak thoughtfully.
In practice
This quote can be used in a speech about the importance of integrity and the lasting effects of promises.
Knowledge, a rude unprofitable mass, the mere materials with which wisdom builds, till smoothed and squared and fitted to its place, does but encumber whom it seems to enrich. Knowledge is proud that he has learned so much; wisdom is humble that he knows no more.
This cabin, Mary, in my sight appears,_x000D_ _x000D_ Built as it has been in our waning years,_x000D_ _x000D_ A rest afforded to our weary feet,_x000D_ _x000D_ Preliminary to - the last retreat.
Strength may wield the ponderous spade, May turn the clod, and wheel the compost home; But elegance, chief grace the garden shows, And most attractive, is the fair result Of thought, the creature of a polished mind.
No wisdom that she may gain by experience and reflection hereafter, will compensate the loss of her present hilarity.
Even in the stifling bosom of the town,_x000D_ _x000D_ A garden, in which nothing thrives, has charms_x000D_ _x000D_ That soothes the rich possessor; much consol'd,_x000D_ _x000D_ That here and there some sprigs of mournful mint,_x000D_ _x000D_ Or nightshade, or valerian, grace the well_x000D_ _x000D_ He cultivates.
Now stir the fire, and close the shutters fast, Let fall the curtains, wheel the sofa around, And while the bubbling and loud-hissing urn Throws up a steamy column, and the cups That cheer but not inebriate, wait on each, So let us welcome peaceful evening in
In every adult there lurks a child— an eternal child, something that is always becoming, is never completed, and calls for unceasing care, attention, and education. That is the part of the personality which wants to develop and become whole.
People to whom sin is just a matter of words, to them salvation is just words too.
Humans are the only hunters who kill when not hungry.
Satan can make men dance upon the brink of hell as though they were on the verge of heaven.
Blackness has always been stigmatised, even amongst black people who flee from the density of that blackness. Some black people recoil from black people who are that dark because it has always been stigmatised.
What then is truth? A movable host of metaphors, metonymies, and anthropomorphisms: in short, a sum of human relations which have been poetically and rhetorically intensified, transferred, and embellished, and which, after long usage, seem to a people to be fixed, canonical, and binding. Truths are illusions which we have forgotten are illusions — they are metaphors that have become worn out and have been drained of sensuous force.
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