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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.

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
Tears
Unwise
Produce
Humane
Lasts
Mortal
Last
Unfortunate
Others
Caused
Many
Mortals
Necessity
Belong

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Poetry is the breath of beauty.
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God made both tears and laughter, and both for kind purposes for as laughter enables mirth and surprise to breathe freely, so tears enable sorrow to vent itself patiently. Tears hinder sorrow from becoming despair and madness.
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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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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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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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Central depth of purple, Leaves more bright than rose, Who shall tell what brightest thought Out of darkness grows? Who, through what funereal pain, Souls to love and peace attain? - Leigh Hunt (James Henry Leigh Hunt
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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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Wit is the clash and reconcilement of incongruities the meeting of extremes round a corner.
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Cats at firesides live luxuriously and are the picture of comfort.
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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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Christmas is the glorious time of great Too-Much.
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Great women belong to history and to self-sacrifice, not to the annals of a stage, however dignified.
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A pleasure so exquisite as almost to amount to pain.
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Those who have lost an infant are never, in a way, without an infant.
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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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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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Night's deepest gloom is but a calm that soothes the weary mind: The labored days restoring balm the comfort of mankind.
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The person who can be only serious or only cheerful, is but half a man.
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The groundwork of all happiness is health.
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The last excessive feelings of delight are always grave.
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