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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
Much
Time
Glorious
Christmas
Great

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The beautiful attracts the beautiful.
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The fish is swift, small-needing, vague yet clear, A cold, sweet, silver life, wrapped in round waves.
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There are two worlds: The world that we can measure with line and rule, and the world we feel with our hearts and imaginations.
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Part of our good consists in the endeavor to do sorrows away, and in the power to sustain them when the endeavor fails,--to bear them nobly, and thus help others to bear them as well.
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There seems a life in hair, though it be dead.
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Oh for a seat in some poetic nook, Just hid with trees and sparkling with a brook!
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Where the mouth is sweet and the eyes intelligent, there is always the look of beauty, with a right heart.
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Stolen kisses are always sweetest.
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Traveling in the company of those we love is home in motion.
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The person who can be only serious or only cheerful, is but half a man.
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The two divinest things this world has got,A lovely woman in a rural spot!
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Improvement is nature.
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Stolen sweets are always sweeter, Stolen kisses much completer, Stolen looks are nice in chapels, Stolen, stolen be your apples.
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There is scarcely a single joy or sorrow within the experience of our fellow-creatures which we have not tasted yet the belief, in the good and beautiful has never forsaken us. It has been medicine to us in sickness, richness in poverty, and the best part of all that ever delighted us in health and success.
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A pleasure so exquisite as almost to amount to pain.
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Jenny kissed me when we met, Jumping from the chair she sat in Time, you thief, who love to get Sweets into your list, put that in: Say I'm weary, say I'm sad, Say that health and wealth have missed me, Say I'm growing old, but add-- Jenny kissed me!
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Colors are the smiles of Nature. When they are extremely smiling, and break forth into other beauty besides, they are her laughs.
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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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Patience and gentleness is power.
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Write me as one who loves his fellow men.
Leigh Hunt