Robert Southey citáty

„So slovami je to tak ako so slnečnými lúčmi - čím viac sú zhustené, tým hlbšie horia.“

„Strata priateľa je ako strata končatiny; čas môže zahojiť bolesť z rany, ale strata sa nedá napraviť.“

„Dajte mi izbu, ktorej každý kút je venovaný knihe.“

“Give me a room whose every nook is dedicated to a book.”

“No distance of place or lapse of time can lessen the friendship of those who are thoroughly persuaded of each other's worth.”

“The loss of a friend is like that of a limb; time may heal the anguish of the wound, but the loss cannot be repaired.”

“"Great news! bloody news!" cried a newsman;
The Devil said, "Stop, let me see!"
"Great news? bloody news?" thought the Devil;
"The bloodier the better for me."”

“Rising and leaping,
Sinking and creeping,
Swelling and sweeping,
Showering and springing,
Flying and flinging,
Writhing and ringing,
Eddying and whisking,
Spouting and frisking,
Turning and twisting,
Around and around
With endless rebound:
Smiting and fighting,
A sight to delight in;
Confounding, astounding,
Dizzying and deafening the ear with its sound.”

“And so never ending, but always descending,
Sounds and motions forever and ever are blending
All at once and all o'er, with a mighty uproar, —
And this way the water comes down at Lodore.”

“It was a summer evening,
Old Kaspar's work was done,
And he before his cottage door
Was sitting in the sun,
And by him sported on the green
His little grandchild Wilhelmine.”

“"And everybody praised the Duke
Who this great fight did win."
"But what good came of it at last?"
Quoth little Peterkin.
"Why, that I cannot tell," said he,
"But 'twas a famous victory."”

“What will not woman, gentle woman dare,
When strong affection stirs her spirit up?”

“Where Washington hath left
His awful memory
A light for after times!”

“And last of all an Admiral came,
A terrible man with a terrible name,—
A name which you all know by sight very well,
But which no one can speak, and no one can spell.”

“It runs through the reeds,
And away it proceeds,
Through meadow and glade,
In sun and in shade,
And through the wood-shelter,
Among crags in its flurry,
Helter-skelter,
Hurry-skurry.”

“In my days of youth, I remembered my God,
And he hath not forgotten my age.”

“Cold is thy heart and as frozen as Charity!”

“Wild dreams! but such
As Plato lov'd; such as with holy zeal
Our Milton worshipp'd. Blessed hopes! awhile
From man with-held, even to the latter days
When Christ shall come, and all things be fulfill'd.”

“He came to ask what he had found,
That was so large, and smooth, and round.”

“Till the vessel strikes with a shivering shock,
“Oh Christ! It is the Inchcape Rock!””

“How does the water
Come down at Lodore?”

“Literature cannot be the business of a woman's life, and it ought not to be.”

“The arts babblative and scribblative.”

“Yet leaving here a name, I trust,
That will not perish in the dust.”

“How beautiful is night!
A dewy freshness fills the silent air;
No mist obscures; nor cloud, nor speck, nor stain,
Breaks the serene of heaven:
In full-orbed glory, yonder moon divine
Rolls through the dark blue depths;
Beneath her steady ray
The desert circle spreads
Like the round ocean, girdled with the sky.
How beautiful is night!”

“And then they knew the perilous Rock,
And blest the Abbot of Aberbrothok.”

“Curses are like young chickens, they always come home to roost.”

“"You are old, Father William." the young man cried,
"The few locks which are left you are grey;
You are hale, Father William—a hearty old man:
Now tell me the reason, I pray."”

“Oh, when a mother meets on high
The babe she lost in infancy,
Hath she not then for pains and fears,
The day of woe, the watchful night,
For all her sorrow, all her tears,
An over-payment of delight?”

“Write poetry for its own sake — not in a spirit of emulation, and not with a view to celebrity; the less you aim at that the more likely you will be to deserve and finally to obtain it.”

“Thou hast been called, O sleep! the friend of woe;
But ’tis the happy that have called thee so.”

“From its fountains
In the mountains,
Its rills and its gills;
Through moss and through brake,
It runs and it creeps
For a while, till it sleeps
In its own little lake.”