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Updated: May 8, 2025
Do I fear, that my heart palpitates? high aspirations cause the flow of my blood; my eyes seem to penetrate the cloudy midnight of time, and to discern within the depths of its darkness, the fruition of all my soul desires. Now pause! During my journey I might dream, and with buoyant wings reach the summit of life's high edifice.
His pale and earnest brow is furrowed with despair as he turns from you. For whither shall he turn? When his bosom palpitates with the intense joy of newborn aspirations for liberty, to whom shall he go if the Briton, the champion of the world's freedom, has drunk of Comus's cup and become an oriental satrap? Ah! there is still hope. The "large heart of England" beats still for him.
The hand palpitates, becomes supple, grows hard and again is softened. In fine it presents a phenomenon which is inexplicable so that one is tempted to call it the incarnation of thought. It causes the despair of the sculptor and the painter when they wish to express the changing labyrinth of its mysterious lineaments.
There are noble, celestial beings among women whom remorse stretches out upon its relentless brasier, but in the midst of the flames that torture them the heart palpitates, imperishable as a salamander. Is it not human fate to suffer?
Here, like those chimes which wander unheeded over the house-tops of the roaring town, till they drop down blessed dews of Heaven into still, grass-grown courts and deserted by-ways, the great universal human heart beats closer to our own, and our whole being palpitates with almost ethereal sympathies.
But, Walden, you have never loved! you have never felt all your life rush like a river to the sea of passion! not low, debasing passion, but passion born of vitality, ardour, truth, hope, sympathy! such emotion as most surely palpitates through the whole body of the natural creation, else there would be naught created. God Himself if there be a God must be conscious of Love!
Why can I not enjoy the felicity of loving this Adonis? Why can I not exchange this poor, burnt-out heart for one that glows and palpitates?" "You are a fool, and know nothing about a maiden's heart! In your ecstasy for this Ganymede, who is probably an old crippled monster, you make rare confusion.
No, no, my friend, blood does not run beneath that ivory skin; the purple tide of life does not swell those veins, nor stir those fibres which interlace like net-work below the translucent amber of the brow and breast. This part palpitates with life, but that other part is not living; life and death jostle each other in every detail.
We do not see the air, and yet we feel it.” “That’s all very well, Hammond, but these are inanimate substances. Glass does not breathe, air does not breathe. This thing has a heart that palpitates—a will that moves it—lungs that play, and inspire and respire.”
We do not see the air, and yet we feel it." "That's all very well, Hammond, but these are inanimate substances. Glass does not breathe, air does not breathe. This thing has a heart that palpitates, a will that moves it, lungs that play, and inspire and respire." "You forget the phenomena of which we have so often heard of late," answered the Doctor, gravely.
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