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No voice but oh - the silence sank Like music on my heart.

Samuel Taylor Coleridge

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Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Age: 61 †
Born: 1772
Born: October 21
Died: 1834
Died: July 25
Critic
Literary Critic
Philosopher
Poet
Theologian
Ottery St Mary
Devon
S. T. Coleridge
Sank
Silence
Voice
Music
Heart
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To leave no interval between the sentence and the fulfillment of it doth beseem God only, the Immutable!
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A bitter and perplexed What shall I do? Is worse to man than worse necessity.
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Alas! they had been friends in youth but whispering tongues can poison truth.
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Genius of the highest kind implies an unusual intensity of the modifying power.
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We have no adequate conception of the perfection of the ancient tragic dance. The pleasure which the greeks received from it had for its basis difference & the more unfit the vehicle, the more lively was the curiosity & intense the delights at seeing the difficulty overcome.
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You may depend upon it, religion is, in its essence, the most gentlemanly thing in the world. It will alone gentilize, if unmixed with cant and I know nothing else that will, alone. Certainly not the army, which is thought to be the grand embellisher of manners.
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The principle of the Gothic architecture is infinity made imaginable. It is no doubt a sublimer effort of genius than the Greek style but then it depends much more on execution for its effect.
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And to be wroth with one we love…Doth work like madness in the brain.
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Men of genius are rarely much annoyed by the company of vulgar people.
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Silence does not always mark wisdom.
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Shakespeare knew the human mind, and its most minute and intimate workings, and he never introduces a word, or a thought, in vain or out of place if we do not understand him, it is our own fault.
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And they three passed over the white sands, between the rocks, silent as the shadows.
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Like one, that on a lonesome road Doth walk in fear and dread, And having once turned round walks on, And turns no more his head Because he knows, a frightful fiend Doth close behind him tread.
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To know, to esteem, to love,-and then to part, Makes up life's tale to many a feeling heart.
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Day after day, day after day, We stuck, nor breath nor motion As idle as a painted ship Upon a painted ocean.
Samuel Taylor Coleridge
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About, about, in reel and rout the death fires danced at night.
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The blue and bright-eyed floweret of the brook, Hope's gentle gem, the sweet Forget-me-not.
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If a man could pass through Paradise in a dream, and have a flower presented to him as a pledge that his soul had really been there, and if he found that flower in his hand when he awake - Aye, what then?
Samuel Taylor Coleridge
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The history of man for the nine months preceding his birth would, probably, be far more interesting and contain events of greater moment than all the three score and ten years that follow it.
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I look'd to Heav'n, and try'd to pray But or ever a prayer had gusht, A wicked whisper came and made My heart as dry as dust.
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