soul (n.)
- afflatus
- anima
- animus
- ardor
- article
- atman
- axiom
- ba
- being
- blood
- body
- bones
- bosom
- breast
- breath
- cat
- center
- chap
- character
- conscience
- core
- creativity
- creature
- critter
- customer
- daemon
- demon
- differentiation
- distillate
- distillation
- distinctiveness
- duck
- dynamism
- earthling
- ecstasy
- ego
- elixir
- embodiment
- emotion
- energy
- entelechy
- entity
- esprit
- essence
- essential
- excitement
- fabric
- feeling
- fellow
- fervency
- fervidness
- fervor
- fire
- flower
- focus
- force
- fundamental
- furor
- fury
- genius
- gist
- groundling
- gusto
- guts
- guy
- hand
- head
- heart
- heartbeat
- heartiness
- heartstrings
- heat
- homo
- human
- hypostasis
- identity
- incarnation
- individual
- individualism
- individuality
- inner
- inside
- inspiration
- integer
- integrity
- intellect
- interior
- intern
- intrados
- item
- joker
- kama
- kernel
- life
- lifeblood
- liveliness
- man
- manes
- marrow
- material
- matter
- meat
- medium
- mind
- module
- monad
- mortal
- nominalism
- nonconformity
- nose
- noumenon
- nub
- nucleus
- object
- one
- oneness
- organism
- particularism
- particularity
- party
- passion
- passionateness
- person
- persona
- personage
- personality
- personification
- pith
- point
- postulate
- principle
- psyche
- quick
- quid
- quiddity
- quintessence
- reason
- relish
- sap
- savor
- sentiment
- shade
- shadow
- sincerity
- single
- singleton
- singularity
- somebody
- someone
- something
- spirit
- stuff
- substance
- talent
- tellurian
- thing
- typification
- uniqueness
- unit
- vehemence
- verve
- viscera
- vitality
- vitals
- vivacity
- warmth
- woman
- worldling
- zeal
soul (adv.)
I had a soul above buttons.
'T is strange that death should sing.
I am the cygnet to this pale faint swan,
Who chants a doleful hymn to his own death,
And from the organ-pipe of frailty sings
His soul and body to their lasting rest.
Earth changes, but thy soul and God stand sure.
The soul aspiring pants its source to mount,
As streams meander level with their fount.
Awake, my soul! stretch every nerve,
And press with vigour on;
A heavenly race demands thy zeal,
And an immortal crown.
He was one of a lean body and visage, as if his eager soul, biting for anger at the clog of his body, desired to fret a passage through it.
Happy he
With such a mother! faith in womankind
Beats with his blood, and trust in all things high
Comes easy to him; and tho' he trip and fall,
He shall not blind his soul with clay.
For of the soule the bodie forme doth take;
For soule is forme, and doth the bodie make.
A wretched soul, bruised with adversity.
Tell me, my soul, can this be death?
See my lips tremble and my eyeballs roll,
Suck my last breath, and catch my flying soul.
Friendship! mysterious cement of the soul!
Sweetener of life! and solder of society!
As cold waters to a thirsty soul, so is good news from a far country.
And the most difficult of tasks to keep
Heights which the soul is competent to gain.
To smell to a turf of fresh earth is wholesome for the body; no less are thoughts of mortality cordial to the soul.
Visions of glory, spare my aching sight!
Ye unborn ages, crowd not on my soul!
Melt and dispel, ye spectre-doubts, that roll
Cimmerian darkness o'er the parting soul!
His native home deep imag'd in his soul.
In ev'ry sorrowing soul I pour'd delight,
And poverty stood smiling in my sight.
That all-softening, overpowering knell,
The tocsin of the soul,—the dinner bell.
Past are three summers since she first beheld
The ocean; all around the child await
Some exclamation of amazement here.
She coldly said, her long-lasht eyes abased,
Is this the mighty ocean? is this all?
That wondrous soul Charoba once possest,—
Capacious, then, as earth or heaven could hold,
Soul discontented with capacity,—
Is gone (I fear) forever. Need I say
She was enchanted by the wicked spells
Of Gebir, whom with lust of power inflamed
The western winds have landed on our coast?
I since have watcht her in lone retreat,
Have heard her sigh and soften out the name.
In discourse more sweet;
For eloquence the soul, song charms the sense.
Others apart sat on a hill retir'd,
In thoughts more elevate, and reason'd high
Of providence, foreknowledge, will, and fate,
Fix'd fate, free-will, foreknowledge absolute;
And found no end, in wand'ring mazes lost.
Every schoolboy hath that famous testament of Grunnius Corocotta Porcellus at his fingers' end.
The idea of her life shall sweetly creep
Into his study of imagination,
And every lovely organ of her life,
Shall come apparell'd in more precious habit,
More moving-delicate and full of life
Into the eye and prospect of his soul.
There St. John mingles with my friendly bowl,
The feast of reason and the flow of soul.
A fiery soul, which, working out its way,
Fretted the pygmy-body to decay,
And o'er-inform'd the tenement of clay.
A daring pilot in extremity;
Pleas'd with the danger, when the waves went high
He sought the storms.
Then with no throbs of fiery pain,
No cold gradations of decay,
Death broke at once the vital chain,
And freed his soul the nearest way.
What more felicitie can fall to creature
Than to enjoy delight with libertie,
And to be lord of all the workes of Nature,
To raine in th' aire from earth to highest skie,
To feed on flowres and weeds of glorious feature.
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted—Nevermore!
But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page,
Rich with the spoils of time, did ne'er unroll;
Chill penury repress'd their noble rage,
And froze the genial current of the soul.
Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar.
Those friends thou hast, and their adoption tried,
Grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel.
A happy soul, that all the way
To heaven hath a summer's day.
I am thy father's spirit,
Doom'd for a certain term to walk the night,
And for the day confin'd to fast in fires,
Till the foul crimes done in my days of nature
Are burnt and purg'd away. But that I am forbid
To tell the secrets of my prison-house,
I could a tale unfold, whose lightest word
Would harrow up thy soul, freeze thy young blood,
Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres,
Thy knotted and combined locks to part
And each particular hair to stand an end,
Like quills upon the fretful porpentine:
But this eternal blazon must not be
To ears of flesh and blood. List, list, O, list!
For though his body's under hatches,
His soul has gone aloft.
Now my soul hath elbow-room.
'T's pride, rank pride, and haughtiness of soul;
I think the Romans call it stoicism.
There was a little man, and he had a little soul;
And he said, Little Soul, let us try, try, try!
Was this the face that launch'd a thousand ships,
And burnt the topless towers of Ilium?
Sweet Helen, make me immortal with a kiss!
Her lips suck forth my soul: see, where it flies!
Virtue could see to do what virtue would
By her own radiant light, though sun and moon
Were in the flat sea sunk. And Wisdom's self
Oft seeks to sweet retired solitude,
Where with her best nurse Contemplation
She plumes her feathers and lets grow her wings,
That in the various bustle of resort
Were all-to ruffled, and sometimes impair'd.
He that has light within his own clear breast
May sit i' th' centre and enjoy bright day;
But he that hides a dark soul and foul thoughts
Benighted walks under the midday sun.
Is there a parson much bemused in beer,
A maudlin poetess, a rhyming peer,
A clerk foredoom'd his father's soul to cross,
Who pens a stanza when he should engross?
O God! it is a fearful thing
To see the human soul take wing
In any shape, in any mood.
Mal. That the soul of our grandam might haply inhabit a bird.
The ultimate, angels' law,
Indulging every instinct of the soul
There where law, life, joy, impulse are one thing!
The idea of her life shall sweetly creep
Into his study of imagination,
And every lovely organ of her life,
Shall come apparell'd in more precious habit,
More moving-delicate and full of life
Into the eye and prospect of his soul.
The iron entered into his soul.
And the most difficult of tasks to keep
Heights which the soul is competent to gain.
Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
"Life is but an empty dream!"
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.
For of the soule the bodie forme doth take;
For soule is forme, and doth the bodie make.
The limbs will quiver and move after the soul is gone.
Every subject's duty is the king's; but every subject's soul is his own.
Perish that thought! No, never be it said
That Fate itself could awe the soul of Richard.
Hence, babbling dreams! you threaten here in vain!
Conscience, avaunt! Richard's himself again!
Hark! the shrill trumpet sounds to horse! away!
My soul's in arms, and eager for the fray.
Such is the aspect of this shore;
'T is Greece, but living Greece no more!
So coldly sweet, so deadly fair,
We start, for soul is wanting there.
The knight's bones are dust,
And his good sword rust;
His soul is with the saints, I trust.
Nor do not saw the air too much with your hand, thus, but use all gently; for in the very torrent, tempest, and, as I may say, the whirlwind of passion, you must acquire and beget a temperance that may give it smoothness. Oh, it offends me to the soul to hear a robustious periwig-pated fellow tear a passion to tatters, to very rags, to split the ears of the groundlings, who for the most part are capable of nothing but inexplicable dumb-shows and noise. I would have such a fellow whipped for o'erdoing Termagant; it out-herods Herod.
'T is fortune gives us birth,
But Jove alone endues the soul with worth.
He used to define justice as "a virtue of the soul distributing that which each person deserved."
When the blood burns, how prodigal the soul
Lends the tongue vows.
The liberal soul shall be made fat.
I have a soul that like an ample shield
Can take in all, and verge enough for more.
Only a sweet and virtuous soul,
Like seasoned timber, never gives.
O limed soul, that, struggling to be free,
Art more engag'd! Help, angels! Make assay!
Bow, stubborn knees; and, heart with strings of steel,
Be soft as sinews of the new-born babe!
I have seen
A curious child, who dwelt upon a tract
Of inland ground, applying to his ear
The convolutions of a smooth-lipped shell,
To which, in silence hushed, his very soul
Listened intensely; and his countenance soon
Brightened with joy, for from within were heard
Murmurings, whereby the monitor expressed
Mysterious union with his native sea.
The living voice is that which sways the soul.
Nor can his blessed soul look down from heaven,
Or break the eternal sabbath of his rest.
What is a man profited, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?
And ever against eating cares
Lap me in soft Lydian airs,
Married to immortal verse,
Such as the meeting soul may pierce,
In notes with many a winding bout
Of linked sweetness long drawn out.
Were I so tall to reach the pole,
Or grasp the ocean with my span,
I must be measured by my soul:
The mind's the standard of the man.
Medicine for the soul.
Charms strike the sight, but merit wins the soul.
But if it be a sin to covet honour,
I am the most offending soul alive.
The mouse that always trusts to one poor hole
Can never be a mouse of any soul.
Friendship! mysterious cement of the soul!
Sweetener of life! and solder of society!
A charge to keep I have,
A God to glorify;
A never dying soul to save,
And fit it for the sky.
O my prophetic soul!
My uncle!
Despatch is the soul of business.
There is some soul of goodness in things evil,
Would men observingly distil it out.
Untwisting all the chains that tie
The hidden soul of harmony.
[Diseases] crucify the soul of man, attenuate our bodies, dry them, wither them, shrivel them up like old apples, make them so many anatomies.
Great truths are portions of the soul of man;
Great souls are portions of eternity.
The harp that once through Tara's halls
The soul of music shed,
Now hangs as mute on Tara's walls
As if that soul were fled.
So sleeps the pride of former days,
So glory's thrill is o'er;
And hearts that once beat high for praise
Now feel that pulse no more.
The soul of music slumbers in the shell
Till waked and kindled by the master's spell;
And feeling hearts, touch them but rightly, pour
A thousand melodies unheard before!
Or bid the soul of Orpheus sing
Such notes as, warbled to the string,
Drew iron tears down Pluto's cheek.
Mal. That the soul of our grandam might haply inhabit a bird.
