Quote

Man hath a weary pilgrimage, As through the word he wends On every stage, from youth to age, Still discontent attends.

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
Youth
Stage
Word
Age
Attends
Stills
Pilgrimage
Still
Discontent
Every
Weary
Men
Hath

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Ye who dwell at home, Ye do not know the terrors of the main.
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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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If you would be pungent, be brief.
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Our restlessness in this world seems to indicate that we are intended for a better. We have all of us a longing after happiness and surely the Creator will gratify all the natural desires he has implanted in us.
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A good man and a wise man may at times be angry with the world, at times grieved for it but be sure no man was ever discontented with the world who did his duty in it.
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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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Whatever increases the strength and authority of your body over your mind, that is sin to you, however, innocent it may be in itself.
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There is another world for all that live and move-a better one!
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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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Live as long as you may, the first twenty years are the longest half of your life.
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Give me a room whose every nook is dedicated to a book.
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That charity is bad which takes from independence its proper pride, from mendicity its salutary shame.
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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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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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Earth could not hold us both, nor can one heaven Contain my deadliest enemy and me.
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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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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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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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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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Cold is thy hopeless heart, even as charity.
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