“I wish I was either in your arms full of faith, or that a Thunder bolt would strike me.”
John Keats (1795–1821) English Romantic poet
Source: Bright Star: Love Letters and Poems of John Keats to Fanny Brawne
“One must become
Fanatic – be a wedge – a thunder-bolt
To smite a passage through the close-grained world.”
Smith (Glasgow: Wilson, 1888) p. 33
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Fanatic – be a wedge – a thunder-bolt
To smite a passage through the close-grained world." by John Davidson?
John Davidson9
Scottish poet 1857–1909Related quotes
H.P. Lovecraft book The Thing on the Doorstep
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Source: "The Thing on the Doorstep" (1937), first published in Weird Tales
Hudibras, Part III (1678)
Context: We idly sit, like stupid blockheads,
Our hands committed to our pockets,
And nothing but our tongues at large,
To get the wretches a discharge:
Like men condemn'd to thunder-bolts,
Who, ere the blow, become mere dolts;
Or fools besotted with their crimes,
That know not how to shift betimes,
And neither have the hearts to stay,
Nor wit enough to run away.
Hans Georg Dehmelt (1922–2017) German physicist
concluding his Nobel lecture http://nobelprize.org/nobel_prizes/physics/laureates/1989/dehmelt-lecture.html referring to the richness of the physics of subatomic particles.
Dejan Stojanovic book Circling: 1978-1987
”Alexander the Great,” p. 55
Circling: 1978-1987 (1993), Sequence: “A Warden with No Keys”
Heinrich Von Kleist (1777–1811) German poet, dramatist, novelist and short story writer
Source: On a Theatre of Marionettes
“Then a lightning bolt shot straight through my skivvies. Sha-ZAM!”
Megan McCafferty (1973) American novelist
Source: Sloppy Firsts
Henrik Ibsen (1828–1906) Norwegian playwright, theatre director, and poet
Mrs. Alving, Act II
Ghosts (1881)
Context: I am half inclined to think we are all ghosts, Mr. Manders. It is not only what we have inherited from our fathers and mothers that exists again in us, but all sorts of old dead ideas and all kinds of old dead beliefs and things of that kind. They are not actually alive in us; but there they are dormant, all the same, and we can never be rid of them. Whenever I take up a newspaper and read it, I fancy I see ghosts creeping between the lines. There must be ghosts all over the world. They must be as countless as the grains of the sands, it seems to me. And we are so miserably afraid of the light, all of us.