We’ve been going at this, and around it, in two previous posts, In Praise of Doubt, and Enlightenment. We’ve heard from Sir Francis Bacon from the early 17th century, and Roshi Robert Kennedy of our own 21st. Now here’s an opinion from a quintessential Romantic poet of the 19th century:
I am certain of nothing but the
holiness of the heart’s affections and
the truth of imagination.
The holiness of the heart’s affections —
The truth of imagination —
Dead far too young, Keats nonetheless was certain of these. Are you certain of something? If so, what?
(Your comments are invited and welcomed — and you are also invited to read the many comments that have already been made on these two posts. Just check the end of the post, where you’ll find “categories” and “tags”: click on “comments” and join in the conversation.)