A Quote by Harriet Beecher Stowe

Midnight,--strange mystic hour,--when the veil between the frail present and the eternal future grows thin. — © Harriet Beecher Stowe
Midnight,--strange mystic hour,--when the veil between the frail present and the eternal future grows thin.
Our beloved ones have not 'gone to a far country.' It is only the veil of sense that separates them from us, and even that veil grows thin when our thoughts reach out to them.
... some veil between childhood and the present is necessary. If the veil is withdrawn, the artistic imagination sickens and dies, the prophet looks in the mirror with a disillusioned and cynical sneer, the scientist goes fishing.
Ah, to think how thin the veil that lies Between the pain of hell and Paradise.
Now let us thank th' eternal power, convinced That Heaven but tries our virtue by affliction: That oft the cloud that wraps the present hour Serves but to brighten all our future days.
At Halloween, when fairy sprites Perform their mystic gambols, When ilka witch her neebour greets, On their nocturnal rambles; When elves at midnight-hour are seen, Near hollow caverns sportin, Then lads an' lasses aft convene, In hopes to ken their fortune, By freets that night.
Veil after veil of thin dusky gauze is lifted, and by degrees the forms and colours of things are restored to them, and we watch the dawn remaking the world in its antique pattern.
The greatness of the human personality begins at the hour of birth. From this almost mystic affirmation there comes what may seem a strange conclusion: that education must start from birth.
The soul awakes ... between two dim eternities - the eternal past, the eternal future.
The difference between Pound and Whitman is not between the democrat who in deep distress could look hopefully toward the future and the fascist madly in love with the past. It is that between the woodsman and the woodcarver. It is that between the mystic harking back to his vision and the artist whose first allegiance is to his craft, and so to the reality it presents.
Many cultures believe that on a certain day - Halloween, the Irish Samhain Eve, Mexico's 'Dia de los Muertos' - the veil between this world and the next is especially thin.
If nothing once, you nothing lose, For when you die you are the same; The space between is but an hour, The frail duration of a flower.
Maeterlinck says that compared with ordinary truths mystic truths have strange privileges - they can neither age nor die. Beauty is eternal and ugliness, thank God, is ephemeral. Can there be any question as to which should attract the poet?
In quitting this strange world he has once again preceded me by a little. That doesn't mean anything. For those of us who believe in physics, this separation between past, present, and future is only an illusion, however tenacious.
So scanty is our present allowance of happiness that in many situations life could scarcely be supported if hope were not allowed to relieve the present hour by pleasures borrowed from the future.
I think living in a way that's close to nature makes you feel like that - makes you feel how thin the veil is between life and death.
There is not past, no future; everything flows in an eternal present.
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