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All deception in the course of life is indeed nothing else but a lie reduced to practice, and falsehood passing from words into things.

Robert Southey

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Robert Southey
Age: 68 †
Born: 1774
Born: August 12
Died: 1843
Died: March 21
Biographer
Historian
Poet
Politician
Translator
Writer
Bristol
Gloucestershire
Robert Southey
Nothing
Passing
Things
Indeed
Life
Courses
Course
Reduced
Practice
Deceit
Lying
Falsehood
Words
Deception
Else
Passings

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The grave is but the threshold of eternity. What a world were this, how unendurable its weight, If they whom death hath sundered, did not meet again!
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A good man and a wise man may at times be angry with the world, at times grieved for it but be sure no man was ever discontented with the world who did his duty in it.
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A stubborn mind conduces as little to wisdom or even to knowledge, as a stubborn temper to happiness
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Earth could not hold us both, nor can one heaven Contain my deadliest enemy and me.
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Cold is thy hopeless heart, even as charity.
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In the days of my youth I remembered my God! And He hath not forgotten my age.
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Without religion the highest endowments of intellect can only render the possessor more dangerous if he be ill disposed if well disposed, only more unhappy.
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The pulpit is a clergyman's parade the parish is his field of active service.
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Ye who dwell at home, Ye do not know the terrors of the main.
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Cupid the little greatest god.
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I cannot believe in an eternity of hell. I hope God will forgive me if I err but in this matter I cannot say, Lord help my unbelief.
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My days among the dead are passed Around me I behold, Where'er these casual eyes are cast, The mighty minds of old My never-failing friends are they, With whom I converse day by day.
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They sin who tell us love can die With life all other passions fly, All others are but vanity. Love is indestructible, Its holy flame forever burneth From heaven it came, to heaven returneth. It soweth here with toil and care, But the harvest-time of love is there.
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For society, of all places I have ever been, Norwich is the best.
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By writing much, one learns to write well.
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Affliction is not sent in vain, young man, from that good God, who chastens whom he loves.
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What will not woman, gentle woman dare when strong affection stirs her spirit up?
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Few people give themselves time to be friends.
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And when my own Mark Antony Against young Caesar strove, And Rome's whole world was set in arms, The cause was,--all for love.
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She comes majestic with her swelling sails, The gallant Ship: along her watery way, Homeward she drives before the favouring gales Now flirting at their length the streamers play, And now they ripple with the ruffling breeze.
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