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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.

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
Fishes
Walton
Friend
Angler
Face
Anglers
Faces
Admirer
Isaac
Likeness
Struck
Fish

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Poetry is the breath of beauty.
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Did you ever observe that immoderate laughter always ends in a sigh?
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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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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 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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An author is like a baker it is for him to make the sweets, and others to buy and enjoy them.
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The same people who can deny others everything are famous for refusing themselves nothing.
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Those who have lost an infant are never, in a way, without an infant.
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The last excessive feelings of delight are always grave.
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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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Cats at firesides live luxuriously and are the picture of comfort.
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The beautiful attracts the beautiful.
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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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Where the mouth is sweet and the eyes intelligent, there is always the look of beauty, with a right heart.
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If you become a Nun, dear, The bishop Love will be The Cupids every one, dear! Will chant-'We trust in thee!'
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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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