Edwin Hubbell Chapin Quotes
In the isolation of his clear, cold intellect, the sceptic abides in a glacial and spectral universe. No glow from the affections lights up the frost and shadow of the grave. He feels no prophecy in the thrill of the human heart-in the incompleteness of nature. He believes merely in things tangible, and sees only in the daytime. He will not confess the authenticity of that paler light of faith which was meant to shine when the sunshine of reason falls short, and the firmament of mystery is over our heads.
Quotes to Explore
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Everyone has their own special set of problems - in their own minds.
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Politics and power is a realm of relative influence.
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Once you make a decision, the universe conspires to make it happen.
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Sometimes we question things that we have done in our lives but how many times do we question what we haven't done in someone else's.
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I really like to kid around, and it's my own way of concentrating. In order for me to be able to feel better and concentrate, I need everybody else around me to be relaxed.
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Without a doubt, priority No. 1 is always my family. Whether it's my children or my husband or even my girlfriends who are also my family, I put them first no matter what. And it makes it easy to then juggle everything else because it's never a question.
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I never had little brothers, so I was totally not used to hearing a lot of cussing at a young age! I learned what 'pull my finger' meant the hard way.
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We remained in Texas leading a quiet home life until 1889.
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Film and TV and stuff like that was something that I wanted to do when I was really, really little; like, I remember I used to do these plays with my cousins. We used to do Michael Jackson performances, and I would be Michael.
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My grandma did opera singing for the better part of her life; she used to sing all over the place. My grandpa was a sax player, and he used to travel all over the place, too.
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I have a very balanced posture about the political situation in my country.
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I don't go into any album with pressing issues. I just try to write songs.
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I am not mean at all; I am not tough at all.
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Breathe. Let go. And remind yourself that this very moment is the only one you know you have for sure.
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Way Down South in Dixie (Break the heart of me) They hung my black young lover To a cross roads tree.
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The best life is the one in which the creative impulses play the largest part and the possessive impulses the smallest.
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Oysters open completely when the moon is full; and when the crab sees one it throws a piece of stone or seaweed into it and the oyster cannot close again so that it serves the crab for meat. Such is the fate of him who opens his mouth too much and thereby puts himself at the mercy of the listener.
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When I was younger, I'd go to the Museum of Television and Radio in New York and watch this beautiful clip of Billie Holiday playing with a bassist, a pianist and Gerry Mulligan, who was a friend of mine, on baritone sax. At one point, she looks over at Gerry, and they just smile. When those moments happen, it's just lovely.
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I'm one of those actors who fall into the camp of never wanting to look at themselves on camera ever, thank you very much. I do not and will not, because I am my worst critic.
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Take every day, love every day, enjoy every day, even if you have a crappy day, find the fun things in it.
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As opposed to journalists, politicians cannot make do with questions. They must also offer answers.
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You have not forgotten to remember; You have remembered to forget. But people can forget to forget. That is just as important as remembering to remember - and generally more practical.
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O thou beautiful And unimaginable ether! and Ye multiplying masses of increased And still increasing lights! what are ye? what Is this blue wilderness of interminable Air, where ye roll along, as I have seen The leaves along the limpid streams of Eden? Is your course measur'd for ye? Or do ye Sweep on in your unbounded revelry Through an aerial universe of endless Expansion,--at which my soul aches to think,-- Intoxicated with eternity.
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In the isolation of his clear, cold intellect, the sceptic abides in a glacial and spectral universe. No glow from the affections lights up the frost and shadow of the grave. He feels no prophecy in the thrill of the human heart-in the incompleteness of nature. He believes merely in things tangible, and sees only in the daytime. He will not confess the authenticity of that paler light of faith which was meant to shine when the sunshine of reason falls short, and the firmament of mystery is over our heads.
