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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.

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
Worst
Vulgar
Beauty
Concrete
Often
Superior
Spirit
Superiors
Beautiful
Abstract
Fantastic
Wilful
Sacrifice
Graceful
Fashion
Sacrifices

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The same people who can deny others everything are famous for refusing themselves nothing.
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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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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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The most fascinating women are those that can most enrich the every day moments of existence. In a particular and attaching sense, they are those that can partake our pleasures and our pains in the liveliest and most devoted manner. Beauty is little without this with it she is triumphant.
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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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The groundwork of all happiness is health.
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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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O scaly, slippery, wet, swift, staring wights, What is 't ye do? what life lead? eh, dull goggles? How do ye vary your vile days and nights? How pass your Sundays? Are ye still but joggles In ceaseless wash? Still nought but gapes and bites, And drinks, and stares, diversified with boggles.
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The last excessive feelings of delight are always grave.
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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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Patience and gentleness is power.
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When moral courage feels that it is in the right, there is no personal daring of which it is incapable.
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I entrench myself in my books equally against sorrow and the weather.
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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 perfection of conversational intercourse is when the breeding of high life is animated by the fervor of genius.
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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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Occupation is the necessary basis of all enjoyment.
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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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Cats at firesides live luxuriously and are the picture of comfort.
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The loveliest hair is nothing, if the wearer is incapable of a grace.
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