Belgravia, 18 tomas

Priekinis viršelis
Willmer & Rogers, 1872

Knygos viduje

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Kiti leidimai - Peržiūrėti viską

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Populiarios ištraukos

63 psl. - A strange fish! Were I in England now, as once I was, and had but this fish painted, not a holiday fool there but would give a piece of silver. There would this monster make a man. Any strange beast there makes a man. When they will not give a doit to relieve a lame beggar, they will lay out ten to see a dead Indian.
34 psl. - I saw her just above the horizon, decorating and cheering the elevated sphere she just began to move in— glittering like the morning star, full of life, and splendour, and joy.
476 psl. - To them his heart, his love, his griefs were given, But all his serious thoughts had rest in Heaven. As some tall cliff, that lifts its awful form, Swells from the vale and midway leaves the storm, Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread, Eternal sunshine settles on its head.
326 psl. - ... the worm that dieth not, and the fire that is not quenched.
573 psl. - O God, if there is a God, save my soul, if I have a soul!
228 psl. - BUILD me straight, O worthy Master ! Staunch and strong, a goodly vessel, That shall laugh at all disaster, And with wave and whirlwind wrestle!
69 psl. - Thou seest, we are not all alone unhappy : This wide and universal theatre Presents more woeful pageants than the scene Wherein we play in. Jaq. All the world's a stage, And all the men and women merely players : They have their exits and their entrances ; And one man in his time plays many parts, His acts being seven ages.
452 psl. - I think that you bore yourself appropriately to the state of life to which it has pleased God to call you.
336 psl. - Macbeth doth come! All. The weird sisters, hand in hand, Posters of the sea and land, Thus do go about, about: Thrice to thine, and thrice to mine, 35 And thrice again, to make up nine.
495 psl. - You'll come to our Ball; - since we parted, I've thought of you, more than I'll say; Indeed, I was half broken-hearted, For a week, when they took you away. Fond Fancy brought back to my slumbers Our walks on the Ness and the Den, And echoed the musical numbers Which you used to sing to me then. I know the romance, since it's over, 'Twere idle, or worse, to recall: I know you're a terrible rover; But, Clarence, - you'll come to our Ball!

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