This site is dedicated to the memory of Dr. Alan William Smolowe who gave birth to the creation of this database.
Through the years of my trance communications and research, two control personalities... have always been identified with my work, and they have never ceased to maintain their independent and separate selves. It is interesting to note that they have always welcomed every form of scientific investigation into the nature of their own being and the mechanisms of my supernormal functioning; but up to the present any efforts to dislodge them or to reduce them to aspects of my own consciousness have led to no change in their attitude, position, or state of being. The control personalities still maintain the roles they have always played in relation to me, since my trance work began. I have reached a point in my development where I can live in harmony with myself and at peace with those personalities, for I am now able to regard them as the finer aspects of my true self. Whatever their origin may be, I do not, at present, have at my command the means of knowing; but for the time being, I am content to accept the controls as aspects of a constructive principle upon which my entire life has been built.
Gratitude | Heart | Individual | Love | Need | People | Position | Praise | Responsibility | Will | Work | Afraid | Leadership |
The woman who does not covet the possessions of her husband is in love with another man.
You don’t have to know a philosopher’s every syllable to know why he rubs you the wrong way. You may know it best after a few of his sentences, and les and less well after that. The important thing is to see his web and move away before you tear it.
A man who cries all night until destroyed, and the next morning continued the day with a smile called Woman.
So work the honey-bees; creatures, by a rule in nature teach the art of order to a peopled kingdom. They have a king and officers of sorts; where some, like magistrates, correct at home; others, like merchants, venture trade abroad; others, like soldiers, armed in their stings, make boot upon the summer's velvet buds; which pillage they, with merry march, bring home, to the tent royal of their emperor; who, busied in his majesty, surveys the singing masons building roofs of gold; the civil citizens kneading up the honey; the poor mechanic porters crowding in their heavy burdens at his narrow gate; the sad-ey'd justice, with his surly hum, delivering o'er to executors pale the lazy yawning drone.
Wise |
Sir, I love you more than words can wield the matter, dearer than eyesight, space, and liberty, beyond what can be valued, rich or rare, no less than life, with grace, health, beauty, honor; as much as child e'er loved, or father found, a love that makes breath poor and speech unable.
Behavior | Cause | Children | Contempt | Counsel | Desire | Duty | Father | Fear | Friend | Good | Grace | Heaven | Honor | Love | Marriage | Mind | Obedience | Pity | Pleasure | Right | Sacred | Time | Wife | Will | Wise | Wit | Woman | Friendship | Counsel | Friends |
Elizabeth Browning, fully Elizabeth Barrett Browning
There's not a crime but takes its proper change out still in crime if once rung on the counter of this world.
It was just so in the American Revolution, in 1776, the first delicacy the men threw overboard in Boston harbor was the tea, woman's favorite beverage. The tobacco and whiskey, though heavily taxed, they clung to with the tenacity of the devil-fish.
Men | Nations | Opinion | Philosophy | Wise |
Elizabeth Browning, fully Elizabeth Barrett Browning
What's this, Aurora Leigh, you write so of the poets and not laugh? Those virtuous liars, dreamers after dark, exaggerators of the sun and moon, and soothsayers in a tea-cup? I write so of the only truth-tellers, now left to God,— the only speakers of essential truth, opposed to relative, comparative, and temporal truths... the only teachers who instruct mankind, from just a shadow on a charnel-wall.
Like many a better one before me, I have gone down under the force of numbers, under the books and books and books that keep coming out and coming out and coming out, shoals of them, spates of them, flash floods of them, too blame many books, and no sign of an end.
Conversation | Tears | Will | Wise | Words |
Emily Brontë, fully Emily Jane Brontë, aka pseudonym Ellis Bell
Reason, indeed, may oft complain for Nature's sad reality, and tell the suffering heart, how vain its cherished dreams must always be; and Truth may rudely trample down the flowers of Fancy, newly-blown.
Wise |
A fool may throw a stone into a well which a hundred wise men cannot pull out.