Every hidden cell is throbbing with music and life, every fiber thrilling like harp strings.
Men know how to read printed books; they do not know how to read the unprinted ones. They can play on a stringed harp, but not on a stringless one. Applying themselves to the superficial...
White IrisThe iris danced acrossthe ancient Grecian skiesgliding with her embossedsatiny milken sides …
Glorious is the Voice of Man, and sweet is the music of the harp.
… in these new days and in these new pages a philosophical tradition of the spontaneity of speculation kind has been rekindled on the sacred isle of Éire, regardless of its creative custodian never having...
Strike, with hand of fire, O weird musician, thy harp strung with Apollo’s golden hair; fill the vast cathedral aisles with symphonies sweet and dim, deft toucher of the organ keys; blow, bugler, blow, until...
…everything has a past. Everything – a person, an object, a word, everything. If you don’t know the past, you can’t understand the present and plan properly for the future.
A harp can be a dangerous as a sword, in the right hands.
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