I know too much to be a sceptic and too little to be a dogmatist.
quote by Pierre Bayle
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Related quotes
Everyone, whether cardinal or scientist, who believes that his own truth is complete and final must become a dogmatist... The more sincere his faith, the more he is bound to persecute, to save others from falling into error.
quote by Joyce Brothers
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To be a philosophical sceptic is, in a man of letters, the first and most essential to being a sound, believing Christian.
quote by David Hume
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Omar
Old Omar, jolly sceptic, it may be
That, after all, you found the magic key
To life and all its mystery, and I
Must own you have almost persuaded me.
poem by James Weldon Johnson
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The so called rational
Even a sceptic will become a fool
To practice superstitious deals
In order to get rid of the trouble
Or the battle he has been caught into.
04.08.2011
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Being sceptic
A believer is happier than a sceptic.
An optimist is happier than a cynic.
This state of being is very much like
The drunken one is merrier than a sober.
18.02.2009
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Prove to Me Your Love is True
if u sung a song for me
My heart would flood with love
if u proved to me I'd never get hurt
Then to u I give my trust.
Love is like a fragile rose
Be careful of how u hold
Excuse my insecurities
I'm sceptic to what I'm told
Say to me not what u see
But what u feel inside
Share with me the secrets no one knows
Tell me what u hide
Open up and trust in me
As I trust in you
Prove that u truly love me
And I'll prove I love u too
poem by Angelique Neal
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Split the Lark—and you'll find the Music
861
Split the Lark—and you'll find the Music—
Bulb after Bulb, in Silver rolled—
Scantilly dealt to the Summer Morning
Saved for your Ear when Lutes be old.
Loose the Flood—you shall find it patent—
Gush after Gush, reserved for you—
Scarlet Experiment! Sceptic Thomas!
Now, do you doubt that your Bird was true?
poem by Emily Dickinson
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Things Can Only Get Better
Were not scared to lose it all
Security throw through the wall
Future dreams we have to realize
A thousand sceptic hands
Wont keep us from the things we plan
Unless were clinging to the things we prize
And do you feel scared - I do
But I wont stop and falter
And if we threw it all away
Things can only get better
Wow wow wow oh, wow wow wow oh oh oh oh
Treating today as though it was
The last, the final show
Get to sixty and feel no regret
It may take a little time
A lonely path, an uphill climb
Success or failure will not alter it
And do you feel
Wow wow wow oh...
And do you feel...
song performed by by Howard Jones
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Agnostic
The chapel looms against the sky,
Above the vine-clad shelves,
And as the peasants pass it by
They cross themselves.
But I alone, I grieve to state,
Lack sentiment divine:
A citified sophisticate,
I make no sign.
Their gesture may a habit be,
Mechanic in a sense,
Yet somehow it awakes in me
Strange reverence.
And though from ignorance it stem,
Somehow I deeply grieve,
And wish down in my heart like them
I could believe.
Suppose a cottage I should buy,
And little patch of vine,
With pure and humble spirit I
Might make the Sign.
Aye, though I godless way I go,
And sceptic in my trend,
A faith in something I don't know
Might save me in the end.
poem by Robert William Service
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The Riddle of the World
Know then thyself, presume not God to scan
The proper study of Mankind is Man.
Placed on this isthmus of a middle state,
A Being darkly wise, and rudely great:
With too much knowledge for the Sceptic side,
With too much weakness for the Stoic's pride,
He hangs between; in doubt to act, or rest;
In doubt to deem himself a God, or Beast;
In doubt his mind and body to prefer;
Born but to die, and reas'ning but to err;
Whether he thinks to little, or too much;
Chaos of Thought and Passion, all confus'd;
Still by himself, abus'd or disabus'd;
Created half to rise and half to fall;
Great Lord of all things, yet a prey to all,
Sole judge of truth, in endless error hurl'd;
The glory, jest and riddle of the world.
poem by Alexander Pope
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Rain Tears
Rain, tears, rain, tears,
Melding in torrential fears:
Chill of cloud; saddened eye-
In either way, a latent cry.
Rain, tears, rain, tears,
Married under sceptic jeers:
‘They'll never last.' Methinks not true, for
Either way, forever blue.
Rain, tears, rain, tears,
Simple love with lacy cares,
Their intercourse will ne'er refrain
From rain and tears and tears and rain.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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The Great Minimum
It is something to have wept as we have wept,
It is something to have done as we have done,
It is something to have watched when all men slept,
And seen the stars which never see the sun.
It is something to have smelt the mystic rose,
Although it break and leave the thorny rods,
It is something to have hungered once as those
Must hunger who have ate the bread of gods.
To have seen you and your unforgotten face,
Brave as a blast of trumpets for the fray,
Pure as white lilies in a watery space,
It were something, though you went from me today.
To have known the things that from the weak are furled,
Perilous ancient passions, strange and high;
It is something to be wiser than the world,
It is something to be older than the sky.
In a time of sceptic moths and cynic rusts,
And fattened lives that of their sweetness tire
In a world of flying loves and fading lusts,
It is something to be sure of a desire.
Lo, blessed are our ears for they have heard;
Yea, blessed are our eyes for they have seen:
Let the thunder break on man and beast and bird
And the lightning. It is something to have been.
poem by G.K. Chesterton
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Great Minimum
It is something to have wept as we have wept,
It is something to have done as we have done,
It is something to have watched when all men slept,
And seen the stars which never see the sun.
It is something to have smelt the mystic rose,
Although it break and leave the thorny rods,
It is something to have hungered once as those
Must hunger who have ate the bread of gods.
To have seen you and your unforgotten face,
Brave as a blast of trumpets for the fray,
Pure as white lilies in a watery space,
It were something, though you went from me today.
To have known the things that from the weak are
furled,
Perilous ancient passions, strange and high;
It is something to be wiser then the world,
It is something to be older then the sky.
In a time of sceptic moths and cynic rusts,
And fattened lives that of their sweetness tire
In a world of flying loves and fading lusts,
It is something to be sure of a desire.
Lo, blessed are our ears for they have heard;
Yea, blessed are our eyes for they have seen:
Let the thunder break on man and beast and bird
And the lightning. It is something to have been.
poem by Gilbert Keith Chesterton
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The Phantom Kiss
One night in my room, still and beamless,
With will and with thought in eclipse,
I rested in sleep that was dreamless;
When softly there fell on my lips
A touch, as of lips that were pressing
Mine own with the message of bliss--
A sudden, soft, fleeting caressing,
A breath like a maiden's first kiss.
I woke-and the scoffer may doubt me--
I peered in surprise through the gloom;
But nothing and none were about me,
And I was alone in my room.
Perhaps 't was the wind that caressed me
And touched me with dew-laden breath;
Or, maybe, close-sweeping, there passed me
The low-winging Angel of Death.
Some sceptic may choose to disdain it,
Or one feign to read it aright;
Or wisdom may seek to explain it--
This mystical kiss in the night.
But rather let fancy thus clear it:
That, thinking of me here alone,
The miles were made naught, and, in spirit,
Thy lips, love, were laid on mine own.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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New Year Irresolution
‘So, what do you yourself wish for
this 2009? ..’ the microphone
is thrust; the videotape awaits…
and perhaps, there’s some golden link
between New Year wish and New Year resolution…
between the individual will and the universal..
meanwhile, the sceptic stands aside, at the crowd’s edge,
without a wish or resolution; wondering,
‘are things/is the world, a better place,
at this New Year than at the last? ’
But, who then to set some standard
by which to judge this increment?
Who can measure happiness in bulk,
or goodwill to all men? How do Goodness,
Truth, and Beauty fare,
at this ending of the year?
One criterion is certain: fewer now believe -
now Christmas is for sale itself, with
massive reductions in all departments
of the human store..
yet we manage, thank you, very well
without the concept God..
But let’s suppose – as some wise men have claimed –
that though man needs no god,
that God needs Man…
then God is one whole grisly year the wiser now
about this species, Man, whom He wound up
with His divine gold clockwork, and set down on garden soil…
now there’s a happy thought for 2009…
a wiser God about His human child..
But how, you ask, the proof?
the proof, dear reader, of this charming
whimsy, is entirely yours…
and only to be made in present moment;
where God forever dwells.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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What Is Truth?
What is Truth? said those of old,
Who, oft warned by Israel's God,
Whose daring deeds, then all untold,
Brought down on them the Avenger's rod.
What is Truth? was asked by one
Whom Israel had been taught to fear,
Whilst, with scorn, he looked upon
The very truth that was so near.
What is Truth? said Pilate, when
The truth had reached his inmost heart
Washing clean his hands again,
In murder, said he'd have no part.
What is Truth? the sland'rer says—
Is it to blast my neighbours' name;
Them defaming all my days—
Acting as though I had no shame?
What is Truth? the tyrant said,
Whilst he enslav'd his fellow-man:
Now my will shall be obey'd,
For who my right will dare to scan?
What is Truth? the miser says,
While counting o'er his ill-got gain:
What care I for her good ways,
So I the 'yellow dross' obtain.
What is Truth? the sceptic says,
While doubt and fears annoy his path:
Shall I heed her peaceful ways,
Or meet at last indignant wrath?
What is Truth? the Christian cries,
Publishing a Saviour's love,
While from earth to heaven he hies—
To the starry realms above.
What is Truth? I may not tell—
What is 'the Truth' shall be made known;
What is Truth, remember well,
Is firm as God's eternal throne!
poem by Benjamin Cutler Clark
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An Appeal to End Appeals
Sir, - I try to do my duty as a patriotic man
With sane views about the science of gastronomy;
And I'd ask the promulgators of each food consuming plan
To consider man's interior economy.
I shall not go into details. But I merely wish to say
My observance hitherto has been meticulous
Of the many noble slogans: but I fear the scheme today
Has at last begun to merge with the ridiculous.
Very nobly I responded to the urge to 'Eat More Fruit';
I bought it and consumed it with avidity.
I was keen to serve my country; and the diet seemd to suit
(If we waive a tendency to slight acidity)
Then the ringing slogan sounded thro' the contry: 'Eat More Wheat!'
I assimilated faithfully that cereal
Then we were asked to eat more eggs, to eat more oats, more meat;
While tissue waxed - both moral and material.
And now, sir, to my horror, 'Eat more butter' is the plan.
But I ask you: Can I hope to rise superior?
There are symptoms. And I fear the patriotic outer man
Is at issue, so to speak, with the interior,
On, I long to do my gastronomic duty; yet I shrink
I shudder - tho' I swear I am no sceptic
But butter! Slabs of butter! There are limits, don't you think?
Sir, I remain,
Yours faithfully,
'DYSPEPTIC.'
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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The Triumph of the People
LO, the gods of Vice and Mammon from their pinnacles are hurled
By the workers’ new religion, which is oldest in the world;
And the earth will feel her children treading firmly on the sod,
For the triumph of the People is the victory of God.
Not the victory of Churches, nor of Punishment and Wrath,
Not the triumph of the sceptic, throwing shadows on the path,
But of Christ and love and mercy o’er the Monarch and the Rod,
For the harvest of the Saviour is the aftermath of God.
O the Light of Revelation, since the reign of Care began,
Has been shining through the ages on the darkened eyes of man.
And the willing slave of Error—he is senseless as a clod—
For the simple Book of Nature is the written scroll of God.
Who will dare to say the sunlight on the pregnant Earth was shed
That the few might rest and fatten, while the many fight for bread?
Lo, there springs a common garden, where the foot of Greed hath trod,
For the victory of Labour was the prophecy of God.
Mother Earth, in coming seasons, shall fulfil her motherhood;
Then the children of her bosom never more shall want for food,
And oppression shall no longer grind the people iron-shod;
For the lifted hand of Labour is the upraised hand of God.
poem by Henry Lawson
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Peach Knoll
Peach Knoll
A poem diffused in mid air, and the fog
to dropp off; to honor skies was our call,
attending a vow; there I recall our song,
comely ode, to recreate on Peach Knoll;
Up there we walked; O, so many stories
to recount; every detail was accurate,
amidst the trees, under a nightly Aries,
so many feelings, a night cold to equate.
How many trips we described in acuity,
and ports we reached in paths oceanic,
with our glary eyes staring to continuity,
and my nautical departure to Atlantic;
There we stayed; amidst the night trees,
our images to ascend a dream sceptic,
in trustful years, it was a simple breeze,
caressing vows, and your smile esthetic..
January night 't was, under an icy drizzle;
my leather jacket upon your shoulders
you denied, folded it, amidst the mizzle,
we both felt this vow, as it grew colder;
...................................
I walked uphill, at night, on twenty first,
similar drizzle to salute me, and to extoll
our song, as I walked on time reversed,
recalling your rainy smile, on Peach Knoll.
Copyright © - G. V.- 02.11.2012
/ PoemH 29822354
poem by Giorgio Veneto
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To Caroline: When I Hear That You Express An Affection So Warm
When I hear that you express an affection so warm,
Ne'er think, my beloved, that I do not believe;
For your lip would the soul of suspicion disarm,
And your eye beams a ray which can never deceive.
Yet, still, this fond bosom regrets, while adoring,
That love, like the leaf, must fall into the sear;
That age will come on, when remembrance, deploring,
Contemplates the scenes of her youth with a tear;
That the time must arrive, when, no longer retaining
Their auburn, those locks must wave thin to the breeze,
When a few silver hairs of those tresses remaining
Prove nature a prey to decay and disease.
'Tis this, my beloved, which spreads gloom o'er my features,
Though I ne'er shall presume to arraign the decree,
Which God has proclaim'd as the fate of his creatures,
In the death which will one day deprive you of me.
Mistake not, sweet sceptic, the cause of emotion,
No doubt can the mind of your lover invade;
He worships each look with such faithful devotion,
A smile can enchant, or a tear can dissuade.
But as death, my beloved, soon or late shall o'ertake us,
And our breasts, which alive with such sympathy glow,
Will sleep in the grave till the blast shall awake us,
When calling the dead, in earth's bosom laid low,-
Oh! then let us drain, while we may, draughts of pleasure,
Which from passion like ours may unceasingly flow;
Let us pass round the cup of love's bliss in full measure,
And quaff the contents as our nectar below.
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