“Our Mother feedeth thus our little life, That we may in turn feed her with our death” — James Thomson Copy Share Image
The world rolls round forever like a mill; it grinds out death and life and good and ill; it has no purpose,… — James Thomson Copy Share Image
I know no subject more elevating, more amazing, more ready to the poetical enthusiasm, the philosophical reflection, and the moral sentiment than the works… — James Thomson Copy Share Image
“Surely I write not for the hopeful young, Or those who deem their happiness of worth, Or such as pasture and grow fat among… — James Thomson Copy Share Image
“And now at last authentic word I bring, Witnessed by every dead and living thing; Good tidings of great joy for you, for all:… — James Thomson Copy Share Image
That which makes people dissatisfied with their condition, is the chimerical idea they form of the happiness of others. — James Thomson Copy Share Image
“Our Mother feedeth thus our little life, That we may in turn feed her with our death” — James Thomson Copy Share Image
“How the moon triumphs through the endless nights! How the stars throb and glitter as they wheel Their thick processions of supernal lights Around… — James Thomson Copy Share Image
But who can paint like Nature? Can imagination boast, amid its gay creation, hues like hers? — James Thomson Copy Share Image
“Who is most wretched in this dolorous place? I think myself; yet I would rather be My miserable self than He, than He Who… — James Thomson Copy Share Image
