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The loveliest hair is nothing, if the wearer is incapable of a grace.

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
Loveliest
Incapable
Hair
Grace
Nothing
Wearer

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For the qualities of sheer wit and humor, Swift had no superior, ancient or modern.
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Christmas is the glorious time of great Too-Much.
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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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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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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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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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The fish is swift, small-needing, vague yet clear, A cold, sweet, silver life, wrapped in round waves.
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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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Where the mouth is sweet and the eyes intelligent, there is always the look of beauty, with a right heart.
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Improvement is nature.
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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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Stolen sweets are always sweeter, Stolen kisses much completer, Stolen looks are nice in chapels, Stolen, stolen be your apples.
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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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Great women belong to history and to self-sacrifice, not to the annals of a stage, however dignified.
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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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Colors are the smiles of Nature. When they are extremely smiling, and break forth into other beauty besides, they are her laughs.
Leigh Hunt
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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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Your second-hand bookseller is second to none in the worth of the treasures he dispenses.
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There seems a life in hair, though it be dead.
Leigh Hunt