206 ordspråk av Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Samuel Taylor Coleridge föddes den 21 oktober 1772 och dog den 25 juli 1834 - English writer
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Christianity is not a theory or speculation, but a life; not a philosophy of life, but a life and a living process.

The moving moon went up the sky, / And nowhere did abide: / Softly she was going up, / And a star or two beside.

Poetry has been to me its own exceeding great reward; it has given me the habit of wishing to discover the good and beautiful in all that meets and surrounds me

Poesi

Alas! they had been friends in youth; but whispering tongues can poison truth.

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

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.

The principle of the Gothic architecture is infinity made imaginable.

The Language of the Dream/Night is contrary to that of Waking/Day. 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.

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 truly national. The direct tyranny will come on by and by, after it shall have gratified the multitude with the spoil and ruin of the old institutions of the land.

When the ivy-tod is heavy with snow, / And the owlet whoops to the wolf below.

Forth from his dark and lonely hiding-place, (Portentous sight!) the owlet Atheism, sailing on obscene wings athwart the noon, drops his blue-fringed lids, and holds them close, and hooting at the glorious sun in Heaven, cries out, ''Where is it?''

The Nightmare Life-in-Death was she, / Who thicks man's blood with cold.

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.

With Donne whose muse on dromedary trots, / Wreathe iron pokers into true-love knots.

Sympathy constitutes friendship; but in love there is a sort of antipathy, or opposing passion. Each strives to be the other, and both together make up one whole.

Sympati

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