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There seems a life in hair, though it be dead.

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
Dead
Though
Seems
Life
Hair

More quotes by Leigh Hunt

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Stolen kisses are always sweetest.
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Those who have lost an infant are never, in a way, without an infant.
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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 loveliest hair is nothing, if the wearer is incapable of a grace.
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The last excessive feelings of delight are always grave.
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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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Oh for a seat in some poetic nook, Just hid with trees and sparkling with a brook!
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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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There are two worlds: The world that we can measure with line and rule, and the world we feel with our hearts and imaginations.
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For the qualities of sheer wit and humor, Swift had no superior, ancient or modern.
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Where the mouth is sweet and the eyes intelligent, there is always the look of beauty, with a right heart.
Leigh Hunt
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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.
Leigh Hunt
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The two divinest things this world has got,A lovely woman in a rural spot!
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Improvement is nature.
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If you are ever at a loss to support a flagging conversation, introduce the subject of eating.
Leigh Hunt
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Christmas is the glorious time of great Too-Much.
Leigh Hunt
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Did you ever observe that immoderate laughter always ends in a sigh?
Leigh Hunt
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The fish is swift, small-needing, vague yet clear, A cold, sweet, silver life, wrapped in round waves.
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.
Leigh Hunt
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Light is, perhaps, the most wonderful of all visible things.
Leigh Hunt