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Night's deepest gloom is but a calm that soothes the weary mind: The labored days restoring balm the comfort of mankind.

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
Comfort
Labored
Mankind
Balm
Restoring
Days
Calmness
Night
Gloom
Mind
Weary
Deepest
Calm
Soothes

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A dog can have a friend he has affections and character, he can enjoy equally the field and the fireside he dreams, he caresses, he propitiates he offends, and is pardoned he stands by you in adversity he is a good fellow.
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A friend of ours, who is an admirer of Isaac Walton, was struck, just as we were, with the likeness of the old angler's face to a fish.
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For the qualities of sheer wit and humor, Swift had no superior, ancient or modern.
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The person who can be only serious or only cheerful, is but half a man.
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The beautiful attracts the beautiful.
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This garden has a soul, I know its moods.
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To receive a present handsomely and in a right spirit, even when you have none to give in return, is to give one in return.
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Mankind are creatures of books, as well as of other circumstances and such they eternally remain,--proofs, that the race is a noble and believing race, and capable of whatever books can stimulate.
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Those who have lost an infant are never, in a way, without an infant.
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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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Affection, like melancholy, magnifies trifles but the magnifying of the one is like looking through a telescope at heavenly objects that of the other, like enlarging monsters with a microscope.
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Christmas is the glorious time of great Too-Much.
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Danger for danger's sake is senseless.
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There seems a life in hair, though it be dead.
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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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Write me as one who loves his fellow men.
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Patience and gentleness is power.
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Poetry is the breath of beauty.
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Fishes do not roar they cannot express any sound of suffering and therefore the angler chooses to think they do not suffer, more than it is convenient for him to fancy. Now it is a poor sport that depends for its existence on the want of a voice in the sufferer, and of imagination in the sportsman.
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Occupation is the necessary basis of all enjoyment.
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