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He is the true enchanter, whose spell operates, not upon the senses, but upon the imagination and the heart.
Washington Irving
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Washington Irving
Age: 76 †
Born: 1783
Born: April 3
Died: 1859
Died: November 28
Author
Biographer
Diplomat
Essayist
Historian
Journalist
Lawyer
Novelist
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New York City
New York
Diedrich Knickerbocker
Geoffrey Crayon
Lauuncelot Langstaff
Perception
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Imagination
Upon
Enchanter
True
Operates
Heart
Spell
Spells
Senses
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Some minds seem almost to create themselves, springing up under every disadvantage and working their solitary but irresistible way through a thousand obstacles.
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Man passes away his name perishes from record and recollection his history is as a tale that is told, and his very monument becomes a ruin.
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A barking dog is often more useful than a sleeping lion.
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The sorrow for the dead is the only sorrow from which we refuse to be divorced.
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The scholar only knows how dear these silent, yet eloquent, companions of pure thoughts and innocent hours become in the season of adversity. When all that is worldly turns to dross around us, these only retain their steady value.
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[I]n the gloomy month of February.... The Deserts of Arabia are not more dreary and inhospitable than the streets of London at such a time.
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A kind heart is a fountain of gladness, making everything in its vicinity freshen into smiles.
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The literary world is made up of little confederacies, each looking upon its own members as the lights of the universe and considering all others as mere transient meteors, doomed to soon fall and be forgotten, while its own luminaries are to shine steadily into immortality.
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Wit, after all, is a mighty tart, pungent ingredient, and much too acid for some stomachs but honest good humor is the oil and wine of a merry meeting.
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Those men are most apt to be obsequious and conciliating abroad, who are under the discipline of shrews at home.
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The Indians with surprise found the mouldering trees of their forests suddenly teeming with ambrosial sweet and nothing, I am told, can exceed the greedy relish with which they banquet for the first time upon this unbought luxury of the wilderness.
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Redundancy of language is never found with deep reflection. Verbiage may indicate observation, but not thinking. He who thinks much says but little in proportion to his thoughts.
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The slanders of the pen pierce to the heart they rankle longest in the noblest spirits they dwell ever present in the mind and render it morbidly sensitive to the most trifling collision.
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I am always at a loss at how much to believe of my own stories.
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Christmas is here, Merry old Christmas, Gift-bearing Christmas, Day of grand memories, King of the year!
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Poetry had breathed over and sanctified the land.
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I value this delicious home-feeling as one of the choicest gifts a parent can bestow.
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