Robert Montgomery Quotes

The solitary monk who shook the world
From pagan slumber, when the gospel trump
Thunder' d its challenge from his dauntless lips
In peals of truth.

How sublime Upon a time-blanch'd cliff to muse, and, while The eagle glories in a sea of air, To mingle with the scene around! - Survey The sun-warm heaven ...

And now, Though haply mellow'd by correcting time, I thank thee, Heaven! that the bereaving world Hath not diminish'd the subliming hopes Of youth, in manhood's more imposing cares ...

And there is London!
England's heart and soul. By the proud flowing of her famous Thames, She circulates through countless lands and isles Her greatness; gloriously she rules, At once the awe and sceptre of the world.

And Thou, vast Ocean! on whose awful face Time's iron feet can print no ruin-trace, By breezes lull'd, or by the storm-blasts driv'n, Thy majesty uplifts the mind to heaven.

Where beats a heart within a human breast, There be Thou present, and Thy power adored! And oh! since all are doom'd one common race To run, and one eternal goal to reach, May Thy prime attribute each bosom warm With tender sympathy and truth; may man Be link'd to man in fellowship of soul, Till one vast chain of Love embrace the world!

A thunder-storm! - the eloquence of heaven, When every cloud is from its slumber riven, Who hath not paused beneath its hollow groan, And felt Omnipotence around him thrown? With what a gloom the ush'ring scene appears! The leaves all shiv'ring with instinctive fears, The waters curling with a fellow dread, A veiling fervour round creation spread, And, last, the heavy rain's reluctant shower, With big drops patt'ring on the tree and bower, While wizard shapes the bowing sky deform, - All mark the coming of the thunder-storm!

I am really interested in who owns ideas of religion. What if I say I'm a libertarian, socialist, Occupy-supporting, anti-war, Christian? Is that a controversial idea? I don't see anything really in the original semiotics of Christianity, in the specific parable of the radical socialist Jew from Galilee who becomes the hero figure in the Homeric-word-of-mouth-gossip-novel that becomes the Bible that should make that a paradox.

As o'er the stormy sea of human Life We sail, until our anchor'd spirits rest In the far haven of Eternity, ...

A universal beauty clothes the world, And one heart seems to beat for all mankind!

So we said to ourselves, if we can remove antibodies from someone who's in the middle of a terrible rejection, and save those kidneys, then we should be able to remove them before surgery

What if I say that in my view about the least Christian thing you could do is what the Republican party are trying to doing again now, which is try to take charge of the richest country in the world and then deny the people of that country free access to free healthcare and free education and start more wars.

Beneath our feet a fairy pathway flows, The grass still glitters in the summer breeze, The dusky wood, and distant copse appear, And that lone stream, upon whose chequer'd face We mused, when noon-rays made the pebbles gleam, Is mirror'd to the mind: though all around Be rattling hoofs and roaring wheels, the eye Is wand'ring where the heart delights to dwell.

And Thou, vast Ocean! on whole awful face Time's iron feet can print no ruin trace.

Berlin seems like a place of healing to me though: you have both the Holocaust Memorial and Hiroshima Strasse side-by-side there. You have the whole last century libraried and you can see exactly what we did. Now there's lots of artists and musicians moving there because they can't afford the rent in London and New York, and they're having children and making it a gentle place. It seems to be a place of hope now.

Oh! now to be alone, on some grand height, Where heaven's black curtains shadow all the sight, And watch the swollen clouds their bosom clash, While fleet and far the living lightnings flash ... And see the fiery arrows fall and rise, In dizzy chase along the rattling skies, - How stirs the spirit while the echoes roll, And God, in thunder, rocks from pole to pole!

But when The Spirit speaks, - or beauty from the sky Descends into my being, - when I hear The storm-hymns of the mighty ocean roll, Or thunder sound, - the champion of the storm! - Then I feel envy for immortal words, The rush of living thought; oh! then I long To dash my feelings into deathless verse, That may administer to unborn time, And tell some lofty soul how I have lived A worshipper of Nature and of Thee!

Home, the spot of earth supremely blest,
A dearer, sweeter spot than all the rest.

Say, care-worn man, Whom Duty chains within the city walls, Amid the toiling crowd, how grateful plays The fresh wind o'er thy sickly brow, when free To tread the springy turf, - to hear the trees Communing with the gales, - to catch the voice Of waters, gushing from their rocky womb, And singing as they wander ... Spring-hours will come again, and feelings rise With dewy freshness o'er thy wither'd heart.