Some Observations on the Mental State of the Blind, and Deaf, and Dumb: Suggested by the Case of Jane Sullivan, Both Blind, Deaf, Dumb, and Uneducated

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W. B. Brodie and Company, 1843 - 100 pages
 

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Page 7 - Nay, take my life and all; pardon not that. You take my house, when you do take the prop That doth sustain my house ; you take my life, When you do take the means whereby I live.
Page 8 - I have almost forgot the taste of fears : The time has been, my senses would have cool'd To hear a night-shriek ; and my fell of hair Would at a dismal treatise rouse, and stir, As life were in't : I have supp'd full with horrors ; Direness, familiar to my slaughterous thoughts, Cannot once start me.
Page 41 - Why, look you now, how unworthy a thing you make of me. You would play upon me; you would seem to know my stops; you would pluck out the heart of my mystery; you...
Page 48 - Lulled in the countless chambers of the brain, Our thoughts are linked by many a hidden chain. Awake but one, and lo, what myriads rise ! * Each stamps its image as the other flies.
Page 48 - PROSPERO'S mysterious spell Drew every subject-spirit to his cell ; Each, at thy call, advances or retires, As judgment dictates or the scene inspires. Each thrills the seat of sense, that sacred source Whence the fine nerves direct their mazy course, And through the frame invisibly convey The subtle, quick vibrations as they play ; Man's little universe at once o'ercast, At once illumined when the cloud is past.
Page 48 - Our thoughts are link'd by many a hidden chain. Awake but one, and lo, what myriads rise !* Each stamps its image as the other flies. Each, as the various avenues of sense Delight or sorrow to the soul dispense, Brightens or fades ; yet all, with magic art, Control the latent fibres of the heart.
Page 41 - ... unworthy a thing you make of me. You would play upon me; you would seem to know my stops; you would pluck out the heart of my mystery; you would sound me from my lowest note to the top of my compass; and there is much music, excellent voice, in this little organ, yet cannot you make it speak. 'Sblood, do you think I am easier to be played on than a pipe? Call me what instrument you will, though you can fret me, you cannot play upon me.
Page 60 - Are not that thinking I, no more than they: This frame, compacted, with transcendent skill, Of moving joints obedient to my will; Nursed from the fruitful glebe, like yonder tree, Waxes and wastes; I call it mine, not me: New matter still the mouldering mass sustains, The mansion changed, the tenant still remains: And from the fleeting stream repaired by food, Distinct, as is the swimmer from the flood.
Page 63 - JEternus est et infinitus, omnipotens et omnisciens ; id est, durat ab seterno in seternum, et adest ab infinito in infinitum. — Non est aeternitas et infinitas, sed seternus et infinitus ; non est duratio et spatium, sed durat et adest. Durat semper, et adest ubique ; et existendo semper et ubique, durationem et spatium constituit.

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