[Here follows the passage, "_Anima Sapiens ----ubique totus_," quoted in _The Friend_ (_Coleridge's Works_, ii. 109), together with a brief _résumé_ of Bruno's other works. See, too, _Biographia Literaria_, chapter ix. (_Coleridge's Works_, iii. 249).]
The spring with the little tiny cone of loose sand ever rising and sinking at the bottom, but its surface without a wrinkle.
Northern lights remarkably fine--chiefly a purple-blue--in shooting pyramids, moved from over Bassenthwaite behind Skiddaw. Derwent's birthday, one year old.
Observed the great half moon setting behind the mountain ridge, and watched the shapes its various segments presented as it slowly sunk--first the foot of a boot, all but the heel--then a little pyramid [py]--then a star of the first magnitude--indeed, it was not distinguishable from the evening star at its largest--then rapidly a smaller, a small, a very small star--and, as it diminished in size, so it grew paler in tint. And now where is it? Unseen--but a little fleecy cloud hangs above the mountain ridge, and is rich in amber light.
I do not wish you to act from those truths. No! still and always act from your feelings; but only meditate often on these truths, that sometime or other they may become your feelings.
The state should be to the religions under its protection as a well-drawn picture, equally eyeing all in the room.
Quære, whether or no too great definiteness of terms in any language may not consume too much of the vital and idea-creating force in distinct, clear, full-made images, and so prevent originality. For original might be distinguished from positive thought.
The thing that causes _in_stability in a particular state, of itself causes stability. For instance, wet soap slips off the ledge--detain it till it dries a little, and it _sticks_.
Is there anything in the idea that citizens are fonder of good eating and rustics of strong drink--the one from the rarity of all such things, the other from the uniformity of his life?
On the Greta, over the bridge by Mr. Edmundson's father-in-law, the ashes--their leaves of that light yellow which autumn gives them, cast a reflection on the river like a painter's sunshine.
My birthday. The snow fell on Skiddaw and Grysdale Pike for the first time.