Quote

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.

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
Mind
Failing
Behold
Never
Among
Casual
Dead
Mighty
Days
Cast
Eyes
Passed
Friends
Casts
Eye
Minds
Converse
Around
Failure
Converses

More quotes by Robert Southey

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You are old, Father William, the young man cried, The few locks which are left you are gray You are hale, Father William, a hearty old man,- Now tell me the reason I pray.
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Live as long as you may, the first twenty years are the longest half of your life.
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For a young and presumptuous poet a disposition to write satires is one of the most dangerous he can encourage. It tempts him to personalities, which are not always forgiven after he has repented and become ashamed of them.
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Thou hast been called, O sleep, the friend of woe, But 'tis the happy that have called thee so.
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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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Cold is thy hopeless heart, even as charity.
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Give me a room whose every nook is dedicated to a book.
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I do not cast my eyes away from my troubles. I pack them in as little compass as I can for myself, and never let them annoy others.
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Man hath a weary pilgrimage, As through the word he wends On every stage, from youth to age, Still discontent attends.
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There is another world for all that live and move-a better one!
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Ye who dwell at home, Ye do not know the terrors of the main.
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Be thankful that your lot has fallen on times when, though there may be many evil tongues and exasperated spirits, there are none who have fire and fagot at command.
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And everybody praised the Duke Who this great fight did win. But what good came of it at last? Quoth little Peterkin. Why, that I cannot tell, said he, But 'twas a famous victory.
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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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O Reader! hast thou eer stood to see The Holly-tree? The eye that contemplates it well perceies Its glossy leaes Ordered by an Intelligence so wise As might confound the Atheist's sophistries.
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My name is Death: the last best friend am I.
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Faith in the hereafter is as necessary for the intellectual as the moral character and to the man of letters, as well as to the Christian, the present forms but the slightest portion of his existence.
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By writing much, one learns to write well.
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Love is indestructible, Its holy flame forever burneth From heaven it came, to heaven returneth.
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Earth could not hold us both, nor can one heaven Contain my deadliest enemy and me.
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