Best 16 quotes of Charles Robert Maturin on MyQuotes

A malady Preys on my heart that med'cine cannot reach.

A time will come, and soon, when, from mere habit, you will echo the scream of every delirious wretch that harbors near you; then you will pause, clasp your hands on your throbbing head, and listen with horrible anxiety whether the scream proceeded from you or them.

Beauty hath no lustre save when it gleameth through the crystal web that purity's fine fingers weave for it.

My own lov'd light, That very soft and solemn spirit worships, That lovers love so well--strange joy is thine, Whose influence o'er all tides of soul hath power, Who lend'st thy light to rapture and despair; The glow of hope and wan hue of sick fancy Alike reflect thy rays: alike thou lightest The path of meeting or of parting love-- Alike on mingling or on breaking hearts Thou smil'st in throned beauty!

Nor cell, nor chain, nor dungeon speaks to the murderer like the voice of solitude.

O wretched is the dame, to whom the sound, "Your lord will soon return," no phrase brings.

The fountain of my heart dried up within me,-- With nought that loved me, and with nought to love, I stood upon the desert earth alone. And in that deep and utter agony, Though then, then even most unfit to die I fell upon my knees and prayed for death.

The limner's art may trace the absent feature, And give the eye of distant weeping faith To view the form of its idolatry; But oh! the scenes 'mid which they met and parted; The thoughts--the recollections sweet and bitter,-- Th' Elysian dreams of lovers, when they loved,-- Who shall restore them?

There is no error more absurd, and yet more rooted in the heart of man, than the belief that his sufferings will promote his spiritual safety.

The soul shares not the body's test.

They waste life in what are called good resolutions-partial efforts at reformation, feebly commenced, heartlessly conducted, and hopelessly concluded.

Tis well to be merry and wise, 'Tis well to be honest and true; It is best to be off with the old love, Before you are on with the new.

Yes, I laugh at all mankind, and the imposition that they dare to practice when they talk of hearts. I laugh at human passions and human cares, vice and virtue, religion and impiety; they are all the result of petty localities, and artificial situation. One physical want, one severe and abrupt lesson from the colorless and shriveled lip of necessity, is worth all the logic of the empty wretches who have presumed to prate it, from Zeno down to Burgersdicius. It silences in a second all the feeble sophistry of conventional life, and ascetical passion.

It is actually possible to become amateurs in suffering.

Many a month of gloomy unconsciousness rolled over me, without date or notice. One thousand waves may welter over a sunk wreck, and be felt as one.

She had begun to love the rocks and the ocean, the thunder of the wave, and the sterility of the sand,–awful objects, the incessant recurrence of whose very sound seems intended to remind us of grief and of eternity. Their restless monotony of repetition, corresponds with the beatings of a heart which asks its destiny from the phenomena of nature, and feels the answer is ‘Misery.’ 'Those who love may seek the luxuries of the garden, and inhale added intoxication from its perfumes, which seem the offerings of nature on that altar which is already erected and burning in the heart of the worshipper;–but let those who have loved seek the shores of the ocean, and they shall have their answer too.