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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!

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
Weight
Sundered
Meet
Unendurable
Death
Headstone
World
Threshold
Hath
Grave
Graves
Eternity

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The true one of youth's love, proving a faithful helpmate in those years when the dream of life is over, and we live in its realities.
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Kitten is in the animal world what the rosebud is in the garden the one the most beautiful of all young creatures, the other the loveliest of all opening flowers.
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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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A stubborn mind conduces as little to wisdom or even to knowledge, as a stubborn temper to happiness
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Cold is thy hopeless heart, even as charity.
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There is a magic in that little world, home it is a mystic circle that surrounds comforts and virtues never know beyond its hallowed limits.
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From his brimstone bed, at break of day, A-walking the Devil is gone, To look at his little snug farm of the World, And see how his stock went on.
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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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No distance of place or lapse of time can lessen the friendship of those who are thoroughly persuaded of each other's worth.
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Give me a room whose every nook is dedicated to a book.
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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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If you would be pungent, be brief.
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