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Stolen sweets are always sweeter, Stolen kisses much completer, Stolen looks are nice in chapels, Stolen, stolen be your apples.

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
Stolen
Apples
Kissing
Sweet
Nice
Sweets
Looks
Chapel
Much
Sweeter
Always
Kisses

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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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I am persuaded there is no such thing after all as a perfect enjoyment of solitude for the more delicious the solitude the more one wants a companion.
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Poetry is the breath of beauty.
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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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Wit is the clash and reconcilement of incongruities the meeting of extremes round a corner.
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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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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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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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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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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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Light is, perhaps, the most wonderful of all visible things.
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The person who can be only serious or only cheerful, is but half a man.
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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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There is no greater mistake in the world than the looking upon every sort of nonsense as want of sense.
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Patience and gentleness is power.
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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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If you are ever at a loss to support a flagging conversation, introduce the subject of eating.
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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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