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A stubborn mind conduces as little to wisdom or even to knowledge, as a stubborn temper to happiness

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
Knowledge
Happiness
Littles
Conduces
Little
Stubbornness
Even
Temperance
Mind
Stubborn
Temper
Wisdom

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Love is indestructible, Its holy flame forever burneth From heaven it came, to heaven returneth.
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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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That charity is bad which takes from independence its proper pride, from mendicity its salutary shame.
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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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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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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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What will not woman, gentle woman dare when strong affection stirs her spirit up?
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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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The pulpit is a clergyman's parade the parish is his field of active service.
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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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Affliction is not sent in vain, young man, from that good God, who chastens whom he loves.
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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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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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There is another world for all that live and move-a better one!
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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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The solitary Bee Whose buzzing was the only sound of life, Flew there on restless wing, Seeking in vain one blossom where to fix.
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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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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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Cupid the little greatest god.
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