Quote

Remorse is as the heart in which it grows If that be gentle, it drops balmy dews Of true repentance but if proud and gloomy, It is the poison tree, that pierced to the inmost, Weeps only tears of poison.

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
Gentle
Inmost
Tears
Pierced
Proud
Dew
Tree
Drops
Grows
Gloomy
True
Remorse
Balmy
Heart
Repentance
Dews
Poison
Weeps

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A woman in a single state may be happy and may be miserable but most happy, most miserable, these are epithets belonging to a wife.
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The artist must imitate that which is within the thing, that which is active through form and figure, and discourses to us by symbols.
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What if you slept? And what if, in your sleep, you went to heaven and there plucked a strange and beautiful flower? And what if,when you awoke,you had the flower in your hand? Ah, what then?
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Oh sleep! it is a gentle thing, Beloved from pole to pole.
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As it must not, so genius cannot be lawless for it is even that constitutes its genius - the power of acting creatively under laws of its own origination.
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I have heard of reasons manifold Why Love must needs be blind, But this the best of all I hold,- His eyes are in his mind.
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Novels are to love as fairy tales to dreams.
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Greatness and goodness are not means, but ends! Hath he not always treasures, always friends, The good great man? Three treasures, love and light, And calm thoughts, regular as infants' breath And three firm friends, more sure than day and night, Himself, his Maker, and the angel Death.
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There are three classes into which all the women past seventy that ever I knew were to be divided: 1. That dear old soul 2. That old woman 3. That old witch.
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Language is the armory of the human mind, and at once contains the trophies of its past and the weapons of its future conquests.
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Swiftly, swiftly flew the ship, Yet she sailed softly too: Sweetly, sweetly blew the breeze - On me alone it blew.
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The devil is not, indeed, perfectly humorous, but that is only because he is the extreme of all humor.
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For compassion a human heart suffices, but for full and adequate sympathy, with joy, an angel's only.
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I have found words [in the Bible] for my inmost thoughts, songs for my joy, utterances for my hidden griefs, and pleadings for my shame and my feebleness.
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Rage is essentially vulgar.
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In Shakespeare one sentence begets the next naturally the meaning is all inwoven. He goes on kindling like a meteor through the dark atmosphere.
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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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