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Let us depart! the universal sun Confines not to one land his blessed beams Nor is man rooted, like a tree, whose seed, the winds on some ungenial soil have cast there, where it cannot prosper.

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
Like
Sun
Winds
Universal
Seed
Whose
Rooted
Emigration
Wind
Cast
Beams
Tree
Soil
Confines
Land
Casts
Depart
Cannot
Seeds
Prosper
Men
Blessed
Beam

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Order is the sanity of the mind, the health of the body, the peace of the city, the security of the state. As the beams to a house, as the bones to the microcosm of man, so is order to all things.
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For society, of all places I have ever been, Norwich is the best.
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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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A wise judge, by the craft of the law, was never seduced from its purpose.
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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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If you would be pungent, be brief.
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Three things a wise man will not trust, The wind, the sunshine of an April day, And woman's plighted faith.
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I can remember, with unsteady feet, Tottering from room to room, and finding pleasure In flowers, and toys, and sweetmeats, things which long Have lost their power to please which when I see them, Raise only now a melancholy wish I were the little trifler once again, Who could be pleas'd so lightly.
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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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There was a time when I believed in the persuadability of man, and had the mania of man-mending. Experience has taught me better. The ablest physician can do little in the great lazar-house of society. He acts the wisest part who retires from the contagion.
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Cupid the little greatest god.
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Ye who dwell at home, Ye do not know the terrors of the main.
Robert Southey
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Little, indeed, does it concern us in this our mortal stage, to inquire whence the spirit hath come but of what infinite concern is the consideration whither it is going. Surely such consideration demands the study of a life.
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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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It is not for man to rest in absolute contentment. He is born to hopes and aspirations as the sparks fly upward, unless he has brutalized his nature and quenched the spirit of immortality which is his portion.
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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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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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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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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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