“
The flame of anger, bright and brief, sharpens the barb of love.
— Walter Savage Landor
poet, writer
1775 – 1864
The flame of anger, bright and brief, sharpens the barb of love.
We are no longer happy so soon as we wish to be happier.
Music is God's gift to man, the only art of Heaven given to earth, the only art of earth we take to Heaven.
Music is God's gift to man, the only art of Heaven given to earth, the only art of earth we take to Heaven.
But I have sinuous shells of pearly hue...And murmurs as the ocean murmurs there.
Ah what avails the sceptered race,Ah what the form divine!
Rose Aylmer, whom these wakeful eyesI consecrate to thee.
'Tis verse that givesImmortal youth to mortal maids.
When we play the fool, how wideHow many prompters! what a chorus!
There is delight in singing, though none hearBeside the singer.
Shakespeare is not our poet, but the world's,So varied in discourse.
I strove with none, for none was worth my strife;It sinks, and I am ready to depart.
Around the child bend all the threePride, Envy, Malice, are his Graces.
The damps of autumn sink into the leaves and prepare them for the necessity of their fall; and thus insensibly are we, as years close around us, detached from our tenacity of life by the gentle pressure of recorded sorrow.
I am heartily glad to witness your veneration for a Book which to say nothing of its holiness or authority, contains more specimens of genius and taste than any other volume in existence.
Stand close around, ye Stygian set,That he is old and she a shade.
There are no fields of amaranth on this side of the grave: there are no voices, O Rhodopè! that are not soon mute, however tuneful: there is no name, with whatever emphasis of passionate love repeated, of which the echo is not faint at last.
Of all failures, to fail in a witticism is the worst, and the mishap is the more calamitous in a drawn-out and detailed one.
We must not indulge in unfavourable views of mankind, since by doing it we make bad men believe that they are no worse than others, and we teach the good that they are good in vain.
Men, like nails, lose their usefulness when they lose their direction and begin to bend: such nails are then thrown into the dust or into the furnace.
Ambition is but Avarice on stilts and masked.
