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Christmas is the glorious time of great Too-Much.

Leigh Hunt

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Leigh Hunt
Age: 74 †
Born: 1784
Born: October 19
Died: 1859
Died: August 28
Autobiographer
Journalist
Literary Critic
Poet
Translator
Southgate
London
James Henry Leigh Hunt
Glorious
Christmas
Great
Much
Time

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The most fascinating women are those that can most enrich the every day moments of existence. In a particular and attaching sense, they are those that can partake our pleasures and our pains in the liveliest and most devoted manner. Beauty is little without this with it she is triumphant.
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If you are ever at a loss to support a flagging conversation, introduce the subject of eating.
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The very greatest genius, after all, is not the greatest thing in the world, any more than the greatest city in the world is the country or the sky. It is the concentration of some of its greatest powers, but it is not the greatest diffusion of its might. It is not the habit of its success, the stability of its sereneness.
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Your second-hand bookseller is second to none in the worth of the treasures he dispenses.
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There is no greater mistake in the world than the looking upon every sort of nonsense as want of sense.
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There seems a life in hair, though it be dead.
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Nature, at all events, humanly speaking, is manifestly very fond of color for she has made nothing without it. Her skies are blue her fields, green her waters vary with her skies her animals, vegetables, minerals, are all colored. She paints a great any of them in apparently superfluous hues, as if to show the dullest eye how she loves color.
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Some tears belong to us because we are unfortunate others, because we are humane many, because we are mortal. But most are caused by our being unwise. It is these last only that of necessity produce more.
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This garden has a soul, I know its moods.
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Danger for danger's sake is senseless.
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Poetry is the breath of beauty.
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An exquisite invention this, Worthy of Love's most honeyed kiss,-- This art of writing billet-doux-- In buds, and odors, and bright hues! In saying all one feels and thinks In clever daffodils and pinks In puns of tulips and in phrases, Charming for their truth, of daisies.
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The groundwork of all happiness is health.
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Write me as one who loves his fellow men.
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An author is like a baker it is for him to make the sweets, and others to buy and enjoy them.
Leigh Hunt
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Oh for a seat in some poetic nook, Just hid with trees and sparkling with a brook!
Leigh Hunt
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A pleasure so exquisite as almost to amount to pain.
Leigh Hunt
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O scaly, slippery, wet, swift, staring wights, What is 't ye do? what life lead? eh, dull goggles? How do ye vary your vile days and nights? How pass your Sundays? Are ye still but joggles In ceaseless wash? Still nought but gapes and bites, And drinks, and stares, diversified with boggles.
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If you are melancholy for the first time, you will find, upon a little inquiry, that others have been melancholy many times, and yet are cheerful now.
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Improvement is nature.
Leigh Hunt