Samuel Coleridge Quotes (47 Quotes)

Acquaintance many, and conquaintance few, But for inquaintance I know only two - The friend I've wept and the maid I woo.

The very deep did rot: O Christ!

My Friend, and thou, our Sister!

O studious Poet, eloquent for truth !

Its body brevity, and wit its soul.

It might be so -- but the time is not yet.

The butterfly the ancient Grecians made
The soul's fair emblem, and its only name--
But of the soul, escaped the slavish trade
Of mortal life!

And all should cry, Beware Beware His flashing eyes, his floating hair Weave a circle round him thrice, And close your eyes with holy dread, For he on honey-dew hath fed, And drunk the milk of Paradise.

There is no such thing as a worthless book though there are some far worse than worthless no book that is not worth preserving, if its existence may be tolerated as there may be some men whom it may be proper to hang, but none should be suffered to

A savage place as holy and enchanted As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted By woman wailing for her demon lover

Perhaps 'tis tender too and pretty
At each wild word to feel within
A sweet recoil of love and pity.

Well then, I was saying that Love, truly such, is itself not
the most common thing in the world : and that mutual love still less
so.

The one red leaf, the last of its clan, That dances as often as dance it can, Hanging so light, and hanging so high, On the topmost twig that looks up at the sky.

No doubt, she hath a vision sweet.

Those who best know human nature will acknowledge most fully what a strength light hearted nonsense give to a hard working man

The upper air burst into life!

An instinctive taste teaches men to build their churches with spire steeples which point as with a silent finger to the sky and stars.

The Language of the DreamNight is contrary to that of WakingDay. It is a language of Images and Sensations, the various dialects of which are far less different from each other, than the various Day-Languages of Nations.

Humor is consistent with pathos, whilst wit is not.

In wonder all philosophy began, in wonder it ends, and admiration fill up the interspace but the first wonder is the offspring of ignorance, the last is the parent of adoration

On my way,
Visions of childhood!

But when those meek eyes first did seem
To tell me, Love within you wrought--
O Greta, dear domestic stream !

Whom should I choose for my Judge?

Are there two things, of all which men possess,
That are so like each other and so near,
As mutual Love seems like to Happiness?

You see how this House of Commons has begun to verify all the ill prophecies that were made of it -- low, vulgar, meddling with everything, assuming universal competency, and flattering every base passion -- and sneering at everything noble refined and tr

lost to Love and Truth, whose selfish joy
Tasted her vernal sweets, but tasted to destroy!

Imagination is the living power and prime agent of all human perception.

Therefore all seasons shall be sweet to thee, Whether the summer clothe the general earth With greenness, or the redbreast sit and sing Betwixt the tufts of snow on the bare branch Of mossy apple tree.

I calmed her fears, and she was calm,
And told her love with virgin pride ;
And so I won my Genevieve,
My bright and beauteous Bride.

O shrieve me, shrieve me, holy man!

Whether the eave-drops fall Heard only in the trances of the blast, Or if the secret ministry of frost Shall hang them up in silent icicles, Quietly shining to the quiet moon.

I pass, like night, from land to land I have strange power of speech.

Rights There are no rights whatever without corresponding duties. Look at the history of the growth of our constitution, and you will see that our ancestors never upon any occasion stated, as a ground for claiming any of their privileges, an abstract right inherent in themselves you will nowhere in our parliamentary records find the miserable sophism of the Rights of Man.

It was a miracle of rare device, a sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice

Shakespeare knew the human mind, and its most minute and intimate workings, and he never introduces a word, or a thought, in vain or out of place if we do not understand him, it is our own fault

Poetry is certainly something more than good sense, but it must be good sense, just as a palace is more than a house, but it must be a house

False doctrine does not necessarily make a man a heretic, but an evil heart can make any doctrine heretical

Meek Daughter in the Family of Christ!

To be beloved is all I need,
And whom I love, I love indeed.

One moment - and the sight was fled!

The Knight's bones are dust, And his good sword rust - His soul is with the saints, I trust.

And all the thoughts, pains, joys of mortal breath,
A war-embrace of wrestling Life and Death?

Life is but Thought : so think I will
That Youth and I are House-mates still.

His flashing eyes, his floating hair!

Thou mighty Poet, e'en to frenzy bold!

William, my teacher, my friend!

Signals, Drums, Guns, Bells, the sound of Voices weighing up clearing Anchors ... Monday April 9th, 1804, really set sail ... No health or Happiness without Work.