Leigh Hunt Quotes - Page 3

Quotes about:

• One can love any man that is generous.

  Leigh Hunt

  Men, Generosity, Generous

  Leigh Hunt (1870). “Table-talk: To which are Added Imaginary Conversations of Pope and Swift”, p.32

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• "Books ... books, ..." he exclaims. It is those that teach us to refine on our pleasures when young, and which, having so taught us, enable us to recall them with satisfaction when old.

  Leigh Hunt

  Inspirational, Book, Satisfaction

  "Literary Criticism".

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• Many birds and beasts are...as fit to go to Heaven as many human beings - people who talk of their seats there with as much confidence as if they had booked them at a box office.

  Leigh Hunt

  Animal, People, Office

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• Colors are the smiles of Nature. When they are extremely smiling, and break forth into other beauty besides, they are her laughs.

  Leigh Hunt

  Color, Laughing, Break

  LEIGH HUNT (1864). “The Seer”, p.36

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• The loveliest hair is nothing, if the wearer is incapable of a grace.

  Leigh Hunt

  Hair, Grace, Incapable

  Leigh Hunt (1870). “Men, Women, and Books: A Selection of Sketches, Essays, and Critical Memoirs from His Uncollected Prose Writings”, p.142

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• Words are often things also, and very precious, especially on the gravest occasions. Without "words," and the truth of things that is in them, what were we?

  Leigh Hunt

  Occasions

  Leigh Hunt (2016). “Leigh Hunt: Selected Writings”, p.178, Routledge

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• I loved my friend for his gentleness, his candor, his good repute, his freedom even from my own livelier manner, his calm and reasonable kindness. It was not any particular talent that attracted me to him, or i anything striking whatsoever. I should say in one word, it was his goodness.

  Leigh Hunt

  Kindness, Real, Calm

  Leigh Hunt (1850). “The Autobiography ... with Reminiscences of Friends and Contemporaries”, p.98

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• I am persuaded there is no such thing after all as a perfect enjoyment of solitude; for the more delicious the solitude the more one wants a companion.

  Leigh Hunt

  Perfect, Solitude, Want

  Leigh Hunt, Thornton Leigh Hunt (1862). “The Correspondence of Leigh Hunt”, p.37, London : Smith, Elder

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• Tears hinder sorrow from becoming despair.

  Leigh Hunt

  Sorrow, Tears, Despair

  Leigh Hunt (1853). “The Religion of the Heart: A Manual of Faith and Duty”, p.62

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• Bread, milk and butter are of venerable antiquity. They taste of the morning of the world.

  Leigh Hunt

  Morning, Food, World

  Leigh Hunt (1840). “The Seer: Or, Common-places Refreshed”, p.27

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• Oh for a seat in some poetic nook, Just hid with trees and sparkling with a brook!

  Leigh Hunt

  Justice, Poetry, Tree

  Leigh Hunt, S. Hamilton (1815). “The Feast of the Poets: With Other Pieces in Verse”, p.168

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• The rapturuous, wild, and ineffable pleasure of drinking at somebody else's expense

  Leigh Hunt

  Drinking, Wine, Pleasure

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• We lose in depth of expression when we go to inferior animals for comparisons with human beauty. Homer calls Juno ox-eyed; and the epithet suits well with the eyes of that goddess, because she may be supposed, with all her beauty, to want a certain humanity. Her large eyes look at you with a royal indifference.

  Leigh Hunt

  Eye, Animal, Expression

  Leigh Hunt (1873). “Men, Women, and Books: A Selection of Sketches, Essays, and Critical Memoirs, from His Uncollected Prose Writings”, p.216

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• The two divinest things this world has got,A lovely woman in a rural spot!

  Leigh Hunt

  Two, Lovely, World

  'The Story of Rimini' (1816) canto 3, l. 257

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• Beauty too often sacrifices to fashion.

  Leigh Hunt

  Fashion, Sacrifice

  Leigh Hunt (1873). “The Indicator, and the Companion: A Miscellany for the Fields and the Fire-side”, p.239

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• Mankind are creatures of books, as well as of other circumstances; and such they eternally remain,--proofs, that the race is a noble and believing race, and capable of whatever books can stimulate.

  Leigh Hunt

  Believe, Book, Race

  Leigh Hunt (1849). “A Book for a Corner”, p.7

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• It is a delicious moment, certainly, that of being well nestled in bed, and feeling that you shall drop gently to sleep. The good is to come, not past; the limbs have just been tired enough to render the remaining in one posture delightful; the labour of the day is gone

  Leigh Hunt

  Tired, Sleep, Past

  Leigh Hunt (1820). “The Indicator”, p.105

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• The fish is swift, small-needing, vague yet clear, A cold, sweet, silver life, wrapped in round waves.

  Leigh Hunt

  Sweet, Rivers, Lakes

  Leigh Hunt, David Jesson-Dibley (2003). “Selected Writings”, p.58, Psychology Press

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• Christmas is the glorious time of great Too-Much.

  Leigh Hunt

  Christmas, Too Much, Glorious

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• The perfection of conversational intercourse is when the breeding of high life is animated by the fervor of genius.

  Leigh Hunt

  Perfection, Genius, Life Is

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• Affection, like melancholy, magnifies trifles; but the magnifying of the one is like looking through a telescope at heavenly objects; that of the other, like enlarging monsters with a microscope.

  Leigh Hunt

  Love, Monsters, Telescopes

  Leigh Hunt, Thornton Leigh Hunt (1862). “The Correspondence of Leigh Hunt”, p.31, London : Smith, Elder

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• The person who can be only serious or only cheerful, is but half a man.

  Leigh Hunt

  Men, People, Cheerful

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• Little eyes must be good-tempered or they are ruined. They have no other resource. But this will beautify them enough. They are made for laughing, and, should do their duty.

  Leigh Hunt

  Eye, Laughing, Littles

  Leigh Hunt (1870). “Men, Women, and Books: A Selection of Sketches, Essays, and Critical Memoirs from His Uncollected Prose Writings”, p.149

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• O scaly, slippery, wet, swift, staring wights, What is 't ye do? what life lead? eh, dull goggles? How do ye vary your vile days and nights? How pass your Sundays? Are ye still but joggles In ceaseless wash? Still nought but gapes and bites, And drinks, and stares, diversified with boggles.

  Leigh Hunt

  Sunday, Night, Lakes

  Leigh Hunt (1857). “The poetical works of Leigh Hunt, revised by himself and ed. with an intr. by S.A. Lee”, p.112

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• A pleasure so exquisite as almost to amount to pain.

  Leigh Hunt

  Pain, Pleasure, Exquisite

  Letter to Alexander Ireland, 2 June 1848, on receiving 'a glorious batch of 'Examiners", in 'The Correspondence of Leigh Hunt' (1862) vol. 2, p. 122

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