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Those who best know human nature will acknowledge most fully what a strength light hearted nonsense give to a hard working man

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
Hard
Humanity
Giving
Working
Men
Nature
Light
Hearted
Give
Nonsense
Best
Acknowledge
Human
Fully
Humans
Strength

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Where virtue is, sensibility is the ornament and becoming attire of virtue. On certain occasions it may almost be said to become virtue. But sensibility and all the amiable qualities may likewise become, and too often have become, the panders of vice and the instruments of seduction.
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A spring of love gush'd from my heart, And I bless'd them unaware.
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Love is the admiration and cherishing of the amiable qualities of the beloved person, upon the condition of yourself being the object of their action.
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Frenchmen are like gunpowder, each by itself smutty and contemptible, but mass them together and they are terrible indeed!
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I do not call the sod under my feet my country but language-religion-government-blood-identity in these makes men of one country.
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All thoughts, all passions, all delights Whatever stirs this mortal frame All are but ministers of Love And feed His sacred flame.
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Laughter is equally the expression of extreme anguish and horror as of joy: as there are tears of sorrow and tears of joy, so is there a laugh of terror and a laugh of merriment.
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And in Life's noisiest hour, There whispers still the ceaseless Love of Thee, The heart's Self-solace and soliloquy. You mould my Hopes, you fashion me within.
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If you wish to assured of the truth of Christianity, try it. Believe, and if thy belief be right, that insight which gradually transmutes faith into knowledge will be the reward of thy belief.
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For she belike hath drunken deep Of all the blessedness of sleep.
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And though thou notest from thy safe recess old friends burn dim, like lamps in noisome air love them for what they are nor love them less, because to thee they are not what they were.
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Death but supplies the oil for the inextinguishable lamp of life.
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How inimitably graceful children are in general-before they learn to dance.
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I may not hope from outward forms to win / The passion and the life, whose fountains are within.
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That agony returns And till my ghastly tale is told, This heart within me burns.
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Rage is essentially vulgar.
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No voice but oh - the silence sank Like music on my heart.
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How strange and awful is the synthesis of life and death in the gusty winds and falling leaves of an autumnal day!
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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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The Language of the Dream/Night is contrary to that of Waking/Day. It is a language of Images and Sensations, the various dialects of which are far less different from each other, than the various Day-Languages of Nations.
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