Walter Savage Landor

Clear writers, like fountains, do not seem so deep as they are; the turbid look the most profound.

People, like nails, lose their effectiveness when they lose direction and begin to bend.

The flame of anger, bright and brief, sharpens the barb of love.

Heat and animosity, contest and conflict may sharpen the wits, although they rarely do; they never strengthen the understanding, clear the perspicacity, guide the judgment, or improve the heart.

Death stands above me, whispering low I know not what into my ear; Of his strange language all I know Is, there is not a word of fear.

In the hours of distress and misery, the eyes of every mortal turn to friendship; in the hours of gladness and conviviality, what is our want? It is friendship. When the heart overflows with gratitude, or with any other sweet or sacred sentiment, what is the word to which it would give utterance? A friend.

Everything that looks to the future elevates human nature; for never is life so low or so little as when occupied with the present.

I sometimes think that the most plaintive ditty has brought a fuller joy and of longer duration to its composer that the conquest of Persia to the Macedonian.

Delay in justice is injustice.

Many love music but for music's sake, Many because her touches can awake Thoughts that repose within the breast half-dead, And rise to follow where she loves to lead. What various feelings come from days gone by! What tears from far-off sources dim the eye! Few, when light fingers with sweet voices play, And melodies swell, pause, and melt away, Mind how at every touch, at every tone, A spark of life hath glistened and hath gone.