Quote

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.

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
Play
Breeze
Watery
Way
Drives
Gallant
Sail
Swelling
Ship
Sails
Length
Gale
Ships
Majestic
Along
Ripple
Gales
Comes
Flirting
Homeward

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Ye who dwell at home, Ye do not know the terrors of the main.
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Give me a room whose every nook is dedicated to a book.
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Earth could not hold us both, nor can one heaven Contain my deadliest enemy and me.
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For society, of all places I have ever been, Norwich is the best.
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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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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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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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My name is Death: the last best friend am I.
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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.
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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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A wise judge, by the craft of the law, was never seduced from its purpose.
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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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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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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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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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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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Love is indestructible, Its holy flame forever burneth From heaven it came, to heaven returneth.
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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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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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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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