Quote

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.

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
Hair
Vines
Word
Foreheads
Woman
Bare
Comes
Masculine
Look
Brought
Effrontery
Looks
Large
Trailed
Giving
Wall
Defying
Gives
Forehead

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I entrench myself in my books equally against sorrow and the weather.
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The person who can be only serious or only cheerful, is but half a man.
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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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Stolen kisses are always sweetest.
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Improvement is nature.
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The same people who can deny others everything are famous for refusing themselves nothing.
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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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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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Patience and gentleness is power.
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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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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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For the qualities of sheer wit and humor, Swift had no superior, ancient or modern.
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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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Great women belong to history and to self-sacrifice, not to the annals of a stage, however dignified.
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Those who have lost an infant are never, in a way, without an infant.
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Christmas is the glorious time of great Too-Much.
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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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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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There seems a life in hair, though it be dead.
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