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The Beautiful arises from the perceived harmony of an object, whether sight or sound, with the inborn and constitutive rules of the judgment and imagination: and it is always intuitive.
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
Objects
Perceived
Imagination
Intuitive
Whether
Arise
Sound
Object
Beautiful
Harmony
Always
Rules
Constitutive
Sight
Inborn
Judgment
Arises
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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
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Clergymen who publish pious frauds in the interest of the church are the orthodox liars of God.
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We have to administer the law whether we like it or no.
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And the Devil did grin, for his darling sin is pride that apes humility.
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The happiness of life is made up of minute fractions.
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A single thought is that which it is from other thoughts as a wave of the sea takes its form and shape from the waves which precede and follow it.
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The doing evil to avoid an evil cannot be good.
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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?
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That gracious thing, made up of tears and light.
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Water cannot rise higher than its source, neither can human reason.
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Carved with figures strange and sweet, All made out of the carver's brain.
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Until you understand a writer's ignorance, presume yourself ignorant of his understanding.
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To be beloved is all I need, And whom I love, I love indeed.
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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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Oh, the difficulty of fixing the attention of men on the world within them!
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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.
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We ought not to extract pernicious honey from poison blossoms of misrepresentation and mendacious half-truth, to pamper the course appetite of bigotry and self-love.
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Remorse weeps tears of blood.
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Good and bad men are each less so than they seem.
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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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