A poet ought not to pick nature's pocket. Let him borrow, and so borrow as to repay by the very act of borrowing. Examine nature accurately, but write from recollection, and trust more to the imagination than the memory.

— Samuel Taylor Coleridge

As a man without forethought scarcely deserves the name of a man, so forethought without reflection is but a metaphorical phrase for the instinct of a beast.- (1772-1834)

— Samuel Taylor Coleridge

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

— Samuel Taylor Coleridge

As I live and am a man, this is an unexaggerated tale - my dreams become the substances of my life.

— Samuel Taylor Coleridge

As long as there are readers to be delighted with calumny there will be found reviewers to calumniate.

— Samuel Taylor Coleridge

But I do not doubt that it is beneficial sometimes to contemplate in the mind, as in a picture, the image of a grander and better world; for if the mind grows used to the trivia of daily life, it may dwindle too much and decline altogether into worthless thoughts.

— Samuel Taylor Coleridge

But Lester-night I prayed aloud In anguish and in agony, Up-starting from the fiendish crowd Of shapes and thoughts that tortured me: A lurid light, a trampling throng, Sense of intolerable wrong, And whom I scorned, those only strong! Thirst of revenge, the powerless will Still baffle, and yet burning still! Desire with loathing strangely mixed On wild or hateful objects fixed. Fantastic passions! Maddening brawl! And shame and terror over all! Deeds to be hid which were not hid, Which all confused I could not know Whether I suffered, or I did: For all seemed guilt, remorse or woe, My own or others still the same Life-stifling fear, soul-stifling shame.

— Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Common sense in an uncommon degree is what the world calls wisdom.

— Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Day after day, day after day, We stuck, nor breath nor motion;As idle as a painted ship Upon a painted ocean.

— Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Down drop the breeze, the sails drop down, 'Twas sad as sad could be; And we did speak only to break The silence of the sea! All in a hot and copper sky, The bloody Sun, at noon, Right up above the mast did stand, No bigger than the Moon. Day after day, day after day, We stuck, nor breath nor motion; As idle as a painted ship Upon a painted ocean.

— Samuel Taylor Coleridge