English Poet and Prose Writer
Walter Savage Landor
English Poet and Prose Writer
Solicitude is the audience-chamber of God.
The eyes of critics, whether in commending or carping, are both on one side, like those of a turbot.
The tomb is the pedestal of greatness. I make a distinction between God's great and the king's great.
There is nothing on earth divine except humanity.
We cannot be contented because we are happy, and we cannot be happy because we are contented.
Something of the severe hath always been appertaining to order and to grace; and the beauty that is not too liberal is sought the most ardently, and loved the longest.
The flame of anger, bright and brief, sharpens the barb of love.
The verdict of the judges was biased by nothing else than their habitudes of feeling.
This is the pleasantest part of life. Oblivion throws her light coverlet over our infancy; and, soon after we are out of the cradle we forget how soundly we had been slumbering, and how delightful were our dreams. Toil and pleasure contend for us almost the instant we rise from it: and weariness follows whichever has carried us away. We stop awhile, look around us, wonder to find we have completed the circle of existence, fold our arms, and fall asleep again.
We cannot conquer fate and necessity, yet we can yield to them in such a manner as to be greater than if we could.
Soon, O Lanthe! life is o'er, and sooner beauty's heavenly smile: grant only (and I ask no more), let love remain that little while.
The Frenchmen are the most delicate people in the world on points of honour, and the least delicate on points of justice.
The very beautiful rarely love at all. Those precious images are placed above the reach of the passions.
To my ninth decade I have tottered on, and no soft arm bends now my steps to steady; she, who once led me where she would, is gone, so when he calls me, Death shall find me ready.
Stand close around, ye Stygian set, with Dirce in one boat conveyed, or Charon, seeing, may forget that he is old and she a shade.
The habitude of pleasing by flattery makes a language soft; the fear of offending by truth makes it circuitous and conventional
To Robert Browning - There is delight in singing, though none hear beside the singer; and there is delight in praising, though the praiser sits alone and see the praised far off him, far above. Shakespeare is not our poet, but the world's, therefore on him no speech! and brief for thee, Browning! Since Chaucer was alive and hale no man hath walked along our roads with step so active, so inquiring eye, or tongue so varied in discourse. But warmer climes give brighter plumage, stronger wing; the breeze of Alpine heights thou playest with, borne on beyond Sorrento and Amalfi, where the Siren waits thee, singing song for song.
Study is the bane of boyhood, the aliment of youth, the indulgence of manhood, and the restorative of age.
The happiest of pillows is not that which love first presses! it is that which death has frowned on and passed over.
The wise become as the unwise in the enchanted chambers of Power, whose lamps make every face the same color.
To say nothing of its holiness or authority, the Bible contains more specimens of genius and taste than any other volume in existence.
Past are three summers since she first beheld the ocean; all around the child await some exclamation of amazement here. She coldly said, her long-lasht eyes abased, is this the mighty ocean? is this all? That wondrous soul Charoba once possest,— capacious, then, as earth or heaven could hold, soul discontented with capacity,— is gone (I fear) forever. Need I say she was enchanted by the wicked spells of Gebir, whom with lust of power inflamed the western winds have landed on our coast? I since have watcht her in lone retreat, have heard her sigh and soften out the name.
Such is our impatience, our hatred of procrastination in everything but the amendment of our practices and the adornment of our nature, one would imagine we were dragging time along by force, and not he us.