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Wine and Walnuts: Or, the Gossip of Great Writers. A Book of Anecdote ...
William Alexander Clouston
Ingen förhandsgranskning - 2017
ancient appear asked bear beautiful body Book Byron called character cloth Coloured common curious dead death doth earth English epigram expression eyes face fair feel Fielding flowers genius give given gold Greek hand happy hath head heart hour human Illustrations kind king known lady learned leaves letter light lines live London look Lord man's manner means mind moral morning nature never night observed once original passed Persian person play poet poetry poor present replied rich round seems sense Shakspeare sleep song soul speak story sweet tell thee things thou thought touch true truth turn virtue whole wife wind woman write young
Sida vi - He was the man who, of all modern and perhaps ancient poets, had the largest and most comprehensive soul. All the images of nature were still present to him, and he drew them, not laboriously, but luckily; when he describes anything, you more than see it, you feel it too.
Sida 71 - Reading maketh a full man; conference a ready man; and writing an exact man. And therefore, if a man write little, he had need have a great memory; if he confer little, he had need have a present wit; and if he read little, he had need have much cunning, to seem to know that he doth not.
Sida 122 - How happy is he born and taught That serveth not another's will; Whose armour is his honest thought And simple truth his utmost skill!
Sida 132 - GOING TO THE WARS Tell me not, Sweet, I am unkind That from the nunnery Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind, To war and arms I fly. True, a new mistress now I chase, The first foe in the field; And with a stronger faith embrace A sword, a horse, a shield. Yet this inconstancy is such As you too shall adore; I could not love thee, dear, so much, Loved I not honour more.
Sida 103 - Go, lovely Rose, Tell her that wastes her time and me, That now she knows When I resemble her to thee How sweet and fair she seems to be.
Sida 23 - Ladybird, Ladybird, fly away home, Your house is on fire, your children will burn.
Sida 115 - Some men with swords may reap the field, And plant fresh laurels where they kill: But their strong nerves at last must yield; They tame but one another still: Early or late They stoop to fate, And must give up their murmuring breath, When they, pale captives, creep to death. The garlands wither on your brow, Then boast no more your mighty deeds; Upon Death's purple altar now See, where the victor-victim bleeds: Your heads must come To the cold tomb; Only the actions of the just Smell sweet, and blossom...
Sida 98 - Fear not to touch the best; The truth shall be thy warrant: Go, since I needs must die, And give the world the lie. Say to the court, it glows And shines like rotten wood; Say to the church it shows What's good, and doth no good: If church and court reply, Then give them both the lie. Tell potentates, they live Acting by others...