LEIGH HUNT

The groundwork of all happiness is health.

It is books that teach us to refine our pleasures when young, and to recall them with satisfaction when we are old.

Colors are the smiles of nature.

The only place a new hat can be carried into with safety is a church, for there is plenty of room there.

There are two worlds: the world we can measure with line and rule, and the world that we feel with our hearts and imagination.

Those who have lost an infant are never, in a way, without an infant.

Sympathizing and selfish people are alike, both given to tears.

Your second-hand bookseller is second to none in the worth of the treasures he dispenses.

The same people who can deny others everything are famous for refusing themselves nothing.

Great woman belong to history and to self sacrifice.

If you are ever at a loss to support a flagging conversation, introduce the subject of eating.

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

Stolen kisses are always sweetest.

Night's deepest gloom is but a calm; that soothes the weary mind: The labored days restoring balm; the comfort of mankind.

Occupation is the necessary basis of all enjoyment.

Part of our good consists in the endeavor to do sorrows away, and in the power to sustain them when the endeavor fails,--to bear them nobly, and thus help others to bear them as well.

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

Tears hinder sorrow from becoming despair.

Improvement is nature.

Hair is the most delicate and lasting of our materials, and survives us, like love. It is so light, so gentle; so escaping from the idea of death, that, with a lock of hair belonging to a child or friend, we may almost look up to heaven and compare notes with the angelic nature,--may almost say, "I have a piece of thee here not unworthy of thy being now.

Those who have lost an infant are never, as it were, without an infant child. Their other children grow up to manhood and womanhood, and suffer all the changes of mortality; but this one alone is rendered an immortal child; for death has arrested it with his kindly harshness, and blessed it into an eternal image of youth and innocence.

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.

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

I entrench myself in my books equally against sorrow and the weather.

Poetry is the breath of beauty.