The Idler, and Breakfast-table Companion, Volym 1, Utgåva 1

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George Denney, 1837

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Sida 1 - Absence of occupation is not rest, A mind quite vacant, is a mind distress'd.
Sida 145 - Throw yourself on the world without any rational plan of support, beyond what the chance employ of booksellers would afford you ! ! ! " Throw yourself rather, my dear Sir, from the steep Tarpeian rock slap-dash headlong upon iron spikes. If you had but five consolatory minutes between the desk and the bed, make much of them, and live a century in them, rather than turn slave to the Booksellers.
Sida 56 - I prithee send me back my heart, Since I cannot have thine; For if from yours you will not part, Why then shouldst thou have mine? Yet now I think on't, let it lie; To find it were in vain, For th' hast a thief in either eye Would steal it back again.
Sida 70 - Thus the ideas, as well as children, of our youth often die before us; and our minds represent to us those tombs to which we are approaching; where though the brass and marble remain, yet the inscriptions are effaced by time, and the imagery moulders away.
Sida 83 - He is retired as noontide dew, Or fountain in a noon-day grove ; And you must love him, ere to you He will seem worthy of your love...
Sida 83 - They are but self-extended ; but pardon me if I stop somewhere — where the fine feeling of benevolence giveth a higher smack than the sensual rarity — there my friends (or any good man) may command me ; but pigs are pigs, and I myself therein am nearest to myself.
Sida 186 - Mending what can't be helped, to kindle mirth From cheer deficient, shall his consort's brow Clear up propitious : the unlucky guest In silence dines, and early slinks away.
Sida 83 - I, not the old impostor, should take in eating her cake ; the cursed ingratitude by which, under the colour of a Christian virtue, I had frustrated her cherished purpose. I sobbed, wept, and took it to heart so grievously, that I think I never suffered the like — and I was right. It was a piece of unfeeling hypocrisy, and proved a lesson to me ever after. The cake has long been masticated, consigned to dunghill with the ashes of that unseasonable pauper.
Sida 145 - Tis a pretty appendage to a situation like yours or mine ; but a slavery, worse than all slavery, to be a bookseller's dependant, to drudge your brains for pots of ale and breasts of mutton, to change your free thoughts and voluntary numbers for ungracious task-work.
Sida 145 - I have known many authors want for bread, some repining, others envying the blessed security of a counting-house, all agreeing they had rather have been tailors, weavers — what not? rather than the things they were. I have known some starved, some to go mad, one dear friend literally dying in a workhouse. You know not what a rapacious, dishonest set these booksellers are.

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