Quote

Oh for a seat in some poetic nook, Just hid with trees and sparkling with a brook!

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
Justice
Sparkling
Brooks
Seat
Poetic
Seats
Trees
Poetry
Nook
Tree
Brook

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There seems a life in hair, though it be dead.
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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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Improvement is nature.
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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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The last excessive feelings of delight are always grave.
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The same people who can deny others everything are famous for refusing themselves nothing.
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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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The person who can be only serious or only cheerful, is but half a man.
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Christmas is the glorious time of great Too-Much.
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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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Did you ever observe that immoderate laughter always ends in a sigh?
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The loveliest hair is nothing, if the wearer is incapable of a grace.
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I entrench myself in my books equally against sorrow and the weather.
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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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A large bare forehead gives a woman a masculine and defying look. The word effrontery comes from it. The hair should be brought over such a forehead as vines are trailed over a wall.
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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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Beauty too often sacrifices to fashion. The spirit of fashion is not the beautiful, but the wilful not the graceful, but the fantastic not the superior in the abstract, but the superior in the worst of all concretes,-the vulgar.
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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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This garden has a soul, I know its moods.
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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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