Quotes like Lastly, literature and philosophy both...

Lastly, literature and philosophy both allow past idols to be resurrected with a frequency which would be truly distressing to a sober scientist.

quote by Morris Raphael Cohen
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The Interpretation of Nature and

MAN, being the servant and interpreter of Nature, can do and understand so much and so much only as he has observed in fact or in thought of the course of nature: beyond this he neither knows anything nor can do anything.

II.

Neither the naked hand nor the understanding left to itself can effect much. It is by instruments and helps that the work is done, which are as much wanted for the understanding as for the hand. And as the instruments of the hand either give motion or guide it, so the instruments of the mind supply either suggestions for the understanding or cautions.

III.

Human knowledge and human power meet in one; for where the cause is not known the effect cannot be produced. Nature to be commanded must be obeyed; and that which in contemplation is as the cause is in operation as the rule.

IV.

Towards the effecting of works, all that man can do is to put together or put asunder natural bodies. The rest is done by nature working within.

V.

The study of nature with a view to works is engaged in by the mechanic, the mathematician, the physician, the alchemist, and the magician; but by all (as things now are) with slight endeavour and scanty success.

VI.

It would be an unsound fancy and self-contradictory to expect that things which have never yet been done can be done except by means which have never yet been tried.

VII.

The productions of the mind and hand seem very numerous in books and manufactures. But all this variety lies in an exquisite subtlety and derivations from a few things already known; not in the number of axioms.

VIII.

Moreover the works already known are due to chance and experiment rather than to sciences; for the sciences we now possess are merely systems for the nice ordering and setting forth of things already invented; not methods of invention or directions for new works.

IX.

The cause and root of nearly all evils in the sciences is this -- that while we falsely admire and extol the powers of the human mind we neglect to seek for its true helps.

X.

The subtlety of nature is greater many times over than the subtlety of the senses and understanding; so that all those specious meditations, speculations, and glosses in which men indulge are quite from the purpose, only there is no one by to observe it.

XI.

As the sciences which we now have do not help us in finding out new works, so neither does the logic which we now have help us in finding out new sciences.

XII.

The logic now in use serves rather to fix and give stability to the errors which have their foundation in commonly received notions than to help the search after truth. So it does more harm than good.

XIII.

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poem by Sir Francis Bacon
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I Am A Scientist

Hehehe
Hihihihihihihiii
I got it
Woohoowoo
Woohoowoo
Got it got it
Woohoowoo
In me the scientist
Always get stuck on always trying this
I try to live on science alone
Analysis and freaky sensitivity
We've gotta live on science alone
I got it Woohoowoo
Yeah uh I am a scientist
Woohoowoo
Yeah uh I am a scientist
Woohoowoo
Yeah uh I am a scientist
Woohoowoo
We've gotta live on science alone
Religiously I'm speaking on the science 'cause
We've gotta live on science alone
I'll tell you what mathematically I'm having it
I want to live on science alone
Woohoowoo
Yeah uh I am a scientist
Woohoowoo
Yeah uh I am a scientist
Woohoowoo
Yeah uh I am a scientist
We've gotta live on science alone
In me the scientist
Always stuck on always trying this
I try to live on science alone
Analysis and freaky sensitivity
We've gotta live on science alone
Woohoowoo
Yeah uh I am a scientist
Woohoowoo
Yeah uh I am a scientist
Woohoowoo
Yeah uh I am a scientist
'Cause I can live on science alone
We've gotta live on science alone
Yeah uh I am a scientist
Yeah uh I am a scientist
Yeah uh I am a scientist
Yeah uh I am a scientist
Yeah uh I am a scientist

song performed by Dandy Warhols
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Scientist

song performed by Dandy Warhols
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Love Science

Ive been around the world, Im going around again
I got a new word up, gonna lay it on my friends
Im still too young, Ive got these emotions in my blood
But when I grow up, gonna be a scientist of love
Working on, love science
Got to know, love science
Show the world, love science
How to be a scientist of love
Tell my friends, love science
Take a chance, love science
Give it up, love science
Im a scientist of love
Feel the power, love science
Study hard, love science
Know the truth, love science
Be a scientist of love
Choose a plan, love science
Pick em up, put em down, love science
Bring it on home, love science
Got to be a scientist of love
Hey you!
Sometimes you get screwed up, and youre looking for a cure
But you dont want to see just another amateur
I know the kind of expert you must be thinking of
Go out and find yourself a scientist of love
Some say that loves a game, a random circumstance
Im not the type to leave that kind of thing to chance
You might sit back and wait, but Im taking off the gloves
Im gonna crack this case like a scientist of love
1, 2, 3!
If loves what we want, if loves what we need
Why cant we make love from suspicion and greed?
If loves what we want, if loves what we need
Why cant we make love?
Ive got no time to waste just waiting for the bus
This is the place, the space to get down and serious
School is in, the lab is open for research
I do declare that love is a walking, talking church
Ive got to quell the beast, be a credit to my sex
Ive got to give at least as much as I expect
Cant get no rest til I discover what I need
Gotta start somewhere, that why I believe, believe, believe
Believe the word, love science
Party down, love science
Thinking hard, love science
How to be a scientist of love
Place to place, love science
Hour to hour, love science
Cant hold back, love science
Got to be a scientist of love

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song performed by Todd Rundgren
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Come let's wholeheartedly follow

There’s a sweet little child in all of us; come lets
wholeheartedly allow it to majestically blossom till
the pinnacle of resplendently ingratiating prosperity,

There’s a mesmerizing little child in all of us; come
lets wholeheartedly allow it to evolve into an
unfathomably compassionate gorge of friendship; as
tangy as the rhapsodically ebullient oceans,

There’s an enchanting little child in all of us; come
lets wholeheartedly allow it to marvelously burgeon
till times beyond iridescent eternity; and enthuse
even the most obfuscatedly alien of our times,

There’s a euphoric little child in all of us; come
lets wholeheartedly allow it to spawn like an
insatiably fragrant flower of gorgeous companionship;
as the Sun blazed vibrantly from behind the
mellifluous hills,

There’s a poignant little child in all of us; come
lets wholeheartedly allow it to enthrall even the most
obsoletely dithering nerves in our beleaguered bodies;
to the most stupendously unprecedented limits,

There’s a jubilant little child in all of us; come
lets wholeheartedly allow it to ingratiatingly gallop
to kiss the epitome of dazzling timelessness; and for
centuries immemorial,

There’s a victorious little child in all of us; come
lets wholeheartedly allow it to Omnipotently
transcend; over the pernicious precipices of our
disastrously dwindling derogatorily manipulative
souls,

There’s an innocuous little child in all of us; come
lets wholeheartedly allow it to profoundly rejuvenate
our bizarrely estranged senses; with the vivaciously
sacrosanct tonic of life,

There’s an embellished little child in all of us; come
lets wholeheartedly allow it to majestically drape our
insipidly feckless deliriousness; with cisterns of
unsurpassable sensuousness,

There’s a fantastic little child in all of us; come
lets wholeheartedly allow it to irrefutably overshadow
our disparagingly deteriorating gloom; with fountains
of timeless happiness,

[...] Read more

poem by Nikhil Parekh
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Literature and philosophy both allow past idols to be resurrected with a frequency which would be truly distressing to a sober scientist.

quote by Morris Raphael Cohen
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Book IV - Part 03 - The Senses And Mental Pictures

Bodies that strike the eyes, awaking sight.
From certain things flow odours evermore,
As cold from rivers, heat from sun, and spray
From waves of ocean, eater-out of walls
Around the coasts. Nor ever cease to flit
The varied voices, sounds athrough the air.
Then too there comes into the mouth at times
The wet of a salt taste, when by the sea
We roam about; and so, whene'er we watch
The wormword being mixed, its bitter stings.
To such degree from all things is each thing
Borne streamingly along, and sent about
To every region round; and Nature grants
Nor rest nor respite of the onward flow,
Since 'tis incessantly we feeling have,
And all the time are suffered to descry
And smell all things at hand, and hear them sound.
Besides, since shape examined by our hands
Within the dark is known to be the same
As that by eyes perceived within the light
And lustrous day, both touch and sight must be
By one like cause aroused. So, if we test
A square and get its stimulus on us
Within the dark, within the light what square
Can fall upon our sight, except a square
That images the things? Wherefore it seems
The source of seeing is in images,
Nor without these can anything be viewed.

Now these same films I name are borne about
And tossed and scattered into regions all.
But since we do perceive alone through eyes,
It follows hence that whitherso we turn
Our sight, all things do strike against it there
With form and hue. And just how far from us
Each thing may be away, the image yields
To us the power to see and chance to tell:
For when 'tis sent, at once it shoves ahead
And drives along the air that's in the space
Betwixt it and our eyes. And thus this air
All glides athrough our eyeballs, and, as 'twere,
Brushes athrough our pupils and thuswise
Passes across. Therefore it comes we see
How far from us each thing may be away,
And the more air there be that's driven before,
And too the longer be the brushing breeze
Against our eyes, the farther off removed
Each thing is seen to be: forsooth, this work
With mightily swift order all goes on,
So that upon one instant we may see

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poem by Lucretius
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Drift Away

(rod stewart, steve cropper, 1975/1976)
Never get to bed before sunup,
Alway get caught in the rain;
Sometimes I might get in trouble,
Never was one to complain.
Now gentleman, you must agree
Aint it worth it when youre out on cloud thirty-three
To be stone cold sober again,
Down in the alley again,
Stone cold sober again.
Never found a dime in a gutter,
Always get my best friends drunk.
If the presdent tries to call me,
Say rodney, come on over for lunch;
Id say, gentlemen, exuse me please
But Im busy with my buddies up on cloud thirty-three.
Yeah, stone cold sober again,
Down in the alley again,
Stone cold sober again.
Sunday is a drag, so forget it,
Monday you can make up for that;
Tuesday, take a taste for dinner,
If youre all right spend it in bed.
But on thursday prepare for your weekend
And let friday disappear into saturday mornin
When youre stone cold sober again,
Down in the alley again,
Stone cold sober again.
Stone cold sober again,
Down in the alley again,
Stone cold sober again.
I dont mind stone cold sober again,
Down in the alley again,
Stone cold sober again.

song performed by Rod Stewart
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Stone Cold Sober

song performed by Rod Stewart
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Rubberneckin

(words & music by jones - warren)
Stop, look and listen baby thats my philosophy
If your rubberneckin baby well thats all right with me
Stop, look and listen baby thats my philosophy
Its called rubberneckin baby but thats all right with me
Some people say Im wasting time yeh, but they dont really know
I like what I see I see what I like yeh, it gives me such a glow
First thing in the morning, last thing at night
I look, stare everywhere and see everything inside
Stop, look and listen baby thats my philosophy
If your rubberneckin baby well thats all right with me
Stop, look and listen baby thats my philosophy
Its called rubberneckin baby but thats all right with me
Some people say Im wasting time yeh, but they dont really know
I like what I see I see what I like yeh, it gives me such a glow
Sittin on the back porch all by myself
Along came mary jane with somebody else
Well, stop, look and listen baby thats my philosophy
Its called rubberneckin baby but thats all right with me
Some people say Im wasting time yeh, but I dont really care
I like what I see, I see what I like yeh, it gives me such a glow
Sittin on the back porch all by myself
Along came mary jane with somebody else
Well, stop, look and listen baby thats my philosophy
Its called rubberneckin baby but thats all right with me
Stop, look and listen baby thats my philosophy
Stop, look and listen baby thats my philosophy
Stop, look and listen baby thats my philosophy
Stop

song performed by Elvis Presley
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Rubberneckin (Original)

Stop, look and listen baby that's my philosophy
If your rubberneckin' baby well that's all right with me
Stop, look and listen baby that's my philosophy
It's called rubberneckin' baby but that's all right with me
Some people say I'm wasting time yeh, but they don't really know
I like what I see I see what I like yeh, it gives me such a glow
First thing in the morning, last thing at night
I look, stare everywhere and see everything inside
Stop, look and listen baby that's my philosophy
If your rubberneckin' baby well that's all right with me
Stop, look and listen baby that's my philosophy
It's called rubberneckin' baby but that's all right with me
Some people say I'm wasting time yeh, but they don't really know
I like what I see I see what I like yeh, it gives me such a glow
Sittin' on the back porch all by myself
Along came Mary Jane with somebody else
Well, stop, look and listen baby that's my philosophy
It's called rubberneckin' baby but that's all right with me
Some people say I'm wasting time yeh, but I don't really care
I like what I see, I see what I like yeh, it gives me such a glow
Sittin' on the back porch all by myself
Along came Mary Jane with somebody else
Well, stop, look and listen baby that's my philosophy
It's called rubberneckin' baby but that's all right with me
Stop, look and listen baby that's my philosophy
Stop, look and listen baby that's my philosophy
Stop, look and listen baby that's my philosophy
Stop

song performed by Elvis Presley
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Tale VI

THE FRANK COURTSHIP.

Grave Jonas Kindred, Sybil Kindred's sire,
Was six feet high, and look'd six inches higher;
Erect, morose, determined, solemn, slow,
Who knew the man could never cease to know:
His faithful spouse, when Jonas was not by,
Had a firm presence and a steady eye;
But with her husband dropp'd her look and tone,
And Jonas ruled unquestion'd and alone.
He read, and oft would quote the sacred words,
How pious husbands of their wives were lords;
Sarah called Abraham Lord! and who could be,
So Jonas thought, a greater man than he?
Himself he view'd with undisguised respect,
And never pardon'd freedom or neglect.
They had one daughter, and this favourite child
Had oft the father of his spleen beguiled;
Soothed by attention from her early years,
She gained all wishes by her smiles or tears;
But Sybil then was in that playful time,
When contradiction is not held a crime;
When parents yield their children idle praise
For faults corrected in their after days.
Peace in the sober house of Jonas dwelt,
Where each his duty and his station felt:
Yet not that peace some favour'd mortals find,
In equal views and harmony of mind;
Not the soft peace that blesses those who love,
Where all with one consent in union move;
But it was that which one superior will
Commands, by making all inferiors still;
Who bids all murmurs, all objections, cease,
And with imperious voice announces--Peace!
They were, to wit, a remnant of that crew,
Who, as their foes maintain, their Sovereign slew;
An independent race, precise, correct,
Who ever married in the kindred sect:
No son or daughter of their order wed
A friend to England's king who lost his head;
Cromwell was still their Saint, and when they met,
They mourn'd that Saints were not our rulers yet.
Fix'd were their habits; they arose betimes,
Then pray'd their hour, and sang their party-

rhymes:
Their meals were plenteous, regular and plain;
The trade of Jonas brought him constant gain;
Vender of hops and malt, of coals and corn -
And, like his father, he was merchant born:

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poem by George Crabbe
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I Give You My Soul Through Pain

Who wants my honest soul?
I want to be free when the devil is in control.
How much would you give up to buy it?
How much would you give up just to try it?
Let the astral projection begin.
Breath in, breath out.
Picture your self in this unholy body.
Then let the soul draining commence.

I will put up no defense.
It is an absolute surrender.
It is an absolute sacrifice.
In the upright 5 pointed star with a circle with candles surrounding.
A ritual to a perfection.
A Wicca call to the powers of nature.
From the earth, fire, water, wind, and lastly the spirit.
Inflict pain to make it stronger.
Brighter, and more powerful.

Strip the body bare,
Let artificial cloths not shield what's really there.
Rise up, stand up, you need be ashamed it was the we were all made.
With our own weaknesses and strengths.
A unique complexion shall be inscribed upon each every living creature.
No matter if of seems inanimate or not.

But the true power is the power within.
You can feel it pulsing through veins with every single beat.
Your heart can never be compromised.
A man will love till his dying breath
Your mind can put you in clouds when your feet are solid on the ground.

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poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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The Farewell

_P_. Farewell to Europe, and at once farewell
To all the follies which in Europe dwell;
To Eastern India now, a richer clime,
Richer, alas! in everything but rhyme,
The Muses steer their course; and, fond of change,
At large, in other worlds, desire to range;
Resolved, at least, since they the fool must play,
To do it in a different place, and way.
_F_. What whim is this, what error of the brain,
What madness worse than in the dog-star's reign?
Why into foreign countries would you roam,
Are there not knaves and fools enough at home?
If satire be thy object--and thy lays
As yet have shown no talents fit for praise--
If satire be thy object, search all round,
Nor to thy purpose can one spot be found
Like England, where, to rampant vigour grown,
Vice chokes up every virtue; where, self-sown,
The seeds of folly shoot forth rank and bold,
And every seed brings forth a hundredfold.
_P_. No more of this--though Truth, (the more our shame,
The more our guilt) though Truth perhaps may claim,
And justify her part in this, yet here,
For the first time, e'en Truth offends my ear;
Declaim from morn to night, from night to morn,
Take up the theme anew, when day's new-born,
I hear, and hate--be England what she will,
With all her faults, she is my country still.
_F_. Thy country! and what then? Is that mere word
Against the voice of Reason to be heard?
Are prejudices, deep imbibed in youth,
To counteract, and make thee hate the truth?
'Tis sure the symptom of a narrow soul
To draw its grand attachment from the whole,
And take up with a part; men, not confined
Within such paltry limits, men design'd
Their nature to exalt, where'er they go,
Wherever waves can roll, and winds can blow,
Where'er the blessed sun, placed in the sky
To watch this subject world, can dart his eye,
Are still the same, and, prejudice outgrown,
Consider every country as their own;
At one grand view they take in Nature's plan,
Not more at home in England than Japan.
_P_. My good, grave Sir of Theory, whose wit,
Grasping at shadows, ne'er caught substance yet,
'Tis mighty easy o'er a glass of wine
On vain refinements vainly to refine,
To laugh at poverty in plenty's reign,
To boast of apathy when out of pain,

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poem by Charles Churchill
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Gartloney Rats

The boys from the village were festering sore
For a day on the rant with some music and more
Theyd drink porter in mauras way over in fore
And never get drunk but stay sober
There was harry the banjo and dunne of the swan
With whose bone from the wing hed beat the bodhran
And the song that hed sing was of ganders and all
Hed never get drunk but stay sober
There was woods on the guitar and auld squeeze box too
Who came from a time before aeroplanes flew
Hed sit in a corner and mule quite a few
And hed never get drunk but stay sober
There was mahon the singer who knew all the songs
And never was known to put a foot wrong
Hed sing through the night till the break o the morn
And hed never get drunk but stay sober
Then harry the banjo now there was a man
A bottomless pit if ever there was one
More porter hed lower that there was in the land
And hed never get drunk but stay sober
Well the gartloney rats would play away
Theyd play for the pints and not for the pay
And the pints theyd go down in the usual way
And theyd never get drunk but stay sober

song performed by Pogues
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Tirocinium; or, a Review of Schools

It is not from his form, in which we trace
Strength join'd with beauty, dignity with grace,
That man, the master of this globe, derives
His right of empire over all that lives.
That form, indeed, the associate of a mind
Vast in its powers, ethereal in its kind,
That form, the labour of Almighty skill,
Framed for the service of a freeborn will,
Asserts precedence, and bespeaks control,
But borrows all its grandeur from the soul.
Hers is the state, the splendour, and the throne,
An intellectual kingdom, all her own.
For her the memory fills her ample page
With truths pour’d down from every distant age;
For her amasses an unbounded store,
The wisdom of great nations, now no more;
Though laden, not encumber’d with her spoil;
Laborious, yet unconscious of her toil;
When copiously supplied, then most enlarged;
Still to be fed, and not to be surcharged.
For her the Fancy, roving unconfined,
The present muse of every pensive mind,
Works magic wonders, adds a brighter hue
To Nature’s scenes than Nature ever knew.
At her command winds rise and waters roar,
Again she lays them slumbering on the shore;
With flower and fruit the wilderness supplies,
Or bids the rocks in ruder pomp arise.
For her the Judgment, umpire in the strife
That Grace and Nature have to wage through life,
Quick-sighted arbiter of good and ill,
Appointed sage preceptor to the Will,
Condemns, approves, and, with a faithful voice,
Guides the decision of a doubtful choice.
Why did the fiat of a God give birth
To yon fair Sun and his attendant Earth?
And, when descending he resigns the skies,
Why takes the gentler Moon her turn to rise,
Whom Ocean feels through all his countless waves,
And owns her power on every shore he laves?
Why do the seasons still enrich the year,
Fruitful and young as in their first career?
Spring hangs her infant blossoms on the trees,
Rock’d in the cradle of the western breeze:
Summer in haste the thriving charge receives
Beneath the shade of her expanded leaves,
Till Autumn’s fiercer heats and plenteous dews
Dye them at last in all their glowing hues.—
‘Twere wild profusion all, and bootless waste,
Power misemploy’d, munificence misplaced,

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poem by William Cowper
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Smitten

Who must I be for you to love me
Endlessly, hopelessly, like I, do you
And where do I touch, when I need to so much
In a rush, wish you trust like I do
And I have tried to please her (oh, yeah)
Much to my demise
Please say somethin' to ease my mind
She gets quiet every time
Hello, allow me to introduce myself
I am smitten
And she couldn't care less
Hello, allow me to introduce myself
I am smitten
And she couldn't care less
Yeah, yeah
Tricked by her smile, she needs me for a while
And I yearn, in return I am burned
Confess, I'm a mess, and there ain't too much left
But if she asked for it I'd give it in a minute (ah, yeah)
And I have tried to please her (yes, I am)
Much to my demise
Please, please say somethin' to ease my achin' mind
She gets quiet every time
Every time
Hello, allow me to introduce myself
I am smitten
And she couldn't care less
Hello, allow me to introduce myself
I am smitten
And she couldn't care less (now listen)
I'm the one with quiet anger in oblivion
Tear tracks smear the smile on my face
And I am deep in love
I'm in love, I'm in love, y'all
Hello, allow me to introduce myself
I am smitten
And she couldn't care less
Hello, allow me to introduce myself
I am smitten
And she couldn't care less
Hello, allow me to introduce myself
I am smitten
And she couldn't care less (care less, care less, care less)
Hello, allow me to introduce myself
I am smitten
And she couldn't care less
Care less (oh, yes)
Hello, allow me to introduce myself
I am smitten
And she couldn't care less

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song performed by Rod Stewart
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The Lamb and the Wolf (Ballad)

I saw a lamb to wolf turn prey!
I saw it kill’d in gruesome way;
The lamb was rather small, I say;
I saw it frolicking that day;
It bleated while busy at play;
That day, its life, it had to pay;
And soon, I heard a plaintive cry;
The grass was smeared by lamb’s blood dry!
My good shepherd, “Did you not know? ”
My God, “Did You all this allow? ”

The wolf was dressed in fine lamb-skin;
It killed by habit, kith and kin;
Like lamb, it spoke and went so near;
It acted friendly, allayed fear;
It took the lamb afar to play;
The lamb was foolish on that day;
It was so meek and frail, not bold;
It wished to see the far-off world.
My good shepherd, “Did you not know? ”
My God, “Did You all this allow? ”

The wolf then took the lamb away,
To steep a cliff with grass to play;
In moment’s time, it pushed it down;
The foul-play was almost half-done;
The lamb remained so very dazed;
That it was live, kept me amazed;
Before it could then recover,
The wolf made plans to devour.
My good shepherd, “Did you not know? ”
My God, “Did You all this allow? ”

The wolf noticed the lamb’s sad plight
And asked if it was quite alright;
It said, “I’ll take you to mother.”
The lamb believed the lie, brother!
It took it round and round and round;
There was no sign of flock on ground;
The lamb had gone really far;
Against the wolf, it could not war.
My good shepherd, “Did you not know? ”
My God, “Did You all this allow? ”

The lamb couldn’t walk any farther;
To pray to God, it didn’t bother;
It was so tired, hungry too;
It did not know what next to do;
The wolf then caught the lamb by throat;

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poem by John Celes
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To The Royal Society (excerpts)

Philosophy the great and only heir
Of all that human knowledge which has bin
Unforfeited by man's rebellious sin,
Though full of years he do appear,
(Philosophy, I say, and call it, he,
For whatso'ere the painter's fancy be,
It a male-virtue seems to me)
Has still been kept in nonage till of late,
Nor manag'd or enjoy'd his vast estate:
Three or four thousand years one would have thought,
To ripeness and perfection might have brought
A science so well bred and nurst,
And of such hopeful parts too at the first.
But, oh, the guardians and the tutors then,
(Some negligent, and some ambitious men)
Would ne'er consent to set him free,
Or his own natural powers to let him see,
Lest that should put an end to their authority.

That his own business he might quite forget,
They' amus'd him with the sports of wanton wit,
With the desserts of poetry they fed him,
Instead of solid meats t' encrease his force;
Instead of vigorous exercise they led him
Into the pleasant labyrinths of ever-fresh discourse:
Instead of carrying him to see
The riches which do hoarded for him lie
In Nature's endless treasury,
They chose his eye to entertain
(His curious but not covetous eye)
With painted scenes, and pageants of the brain.
Some few exalted spirits this latter age has shown,
That labour'd to assert the liberty
(From guardians, who were now usurpers grown)
Of this old minor still, captiv'd Philosophy;
But 'twas rebellion call'd to fight
For such a long oppressed right.
Bacon at last, a mighty man, arose
Whom a wise King and Nature chose
Lord Chancellor of both their laws,
And boldly undertook the injur'd pupil's cause.

Authority, which did a body boast,
Though 'twas but air condens'd, and stalk'd about,
Like some old giant's more gigantic ghost,
To terrify the learned rout
With the plain magic of true reason's light,
He chas'd out of our sight,
Nor suffer'd living men to be misled
By the vain shadows of the dead:

[...] Read more

poem by Abraham Cowley
Added by Poetry Lover
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The philosophy to live

The life is
respect and dignity
My philosophy of
life is to
live with dreams
Is satisfying to
think at the
philosophy to live
The philosophy to
live is sacred
and genuine
Is essential that
the philosophy to
live is a
conscious and satisfying
act of our
personal existence
The philosophy to
live must be
defended from excessive
attacks
The philosophy to
live will be
a peaceful and
motivated revolution
The life is
a great and
magnificent work
The life must
be lived slowly
because only thus
can be authentic
The life is
not appearance
The life travels
in the present
The life is
an alternation of
emotions and sensations
There shouldn't be
obsessions in life
because it's an
unrepeatable and extravagant
thing

poem by Laura arwen
Added by Poetry Lover
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