A Dictionary of Modern English UsageClarendon Press, 1926 - 742 psl. |
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617 psl.
... Love comes back to his vacant dwelling , - The old , old Love that we knew of yore ! We see him stand by the open door , With his great eyes sad , & his bosom swelling . He makes as though in our arms repelling He fain would lie as he ...
... Love comes back to his vacant dwelling , - The old , old Love that we knew of yore ! We see him stand by the open door , With his great eyes sad , & his bosom swelling . He makes as though in our arms repelling He fain would lie as he ...
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Pagrindiniai terminai ir frazės
ABLE acatalectic adjective adverb analogy archaic archaism BACK-FORMATION better called chiefly clause common compound confusion contexts correct differentiation distinction doubt EDLY ELEGANT VARIATION English examples expressed fact FALSE ETYMOLOGY feminine FORMAL WORDS FRENCH FRENCH WORDS GALLICISMS gerund gives Gram grammar Greek HUMOUR hyphen idiom idiomatic IE &c inflexions see VERBS inversion kind LATIN PLURALS less lish literary lled matter meaning ment metaphor mistake modern MUTE MUTE E natural no-one normal NOUN & VERB nounced nunciation object omitted one's ordinary original participle perhaps periphrasis person PLEONASM popular possible preferred preposition pron Pronounce pronunciation question quotations rare reader sense sentence singular SOBRIQUETS sometimes sound spelling spelt SPLIT INFINITIVE subjunctive substitute synonyms synonymy TECHNICAL TERMS thing tion tive true usage usually variant VERB ACCENT VERBS IN IE vowel writers wrong
Populiarios ištraukos
622 psl. - The world is too much with us; late and soon, Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers: Little we see in Nature that is ours; We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!
549 psl. - How many things are there which a man cannot, with any face or comeliness, say or do himself? A man can scarce allege his own merits with modesty, much less extol them; a man cannot sometimes brook to supplicate or beg; and a number of the like. But all these things are graceful in a friend's mouth which are blushing in a man's own.
335 psl. - Know ye not then, said Satan fill'd with scorn. Know ye not me ? ye knew me once no mate For you, there sitting where ye durst not soar Not to know me argues yourselves unknown, The lowest of your throng; or if ye know, Why ask ye, and superfluous begin Your message, like to end as much in vain ? To whom thus Zephon, answering scorn with scorn.
259 psl. - Lapithae, and Theseus, drive, Drive crashing through their bones ; they feel High on a jutting rock in the red stream Alcmena's dreadful son Ply his bow ; such a price The Gods exact for song : To become what we sing.
336 psl. - Pilate therefore said unto him, Art thou a king then? Jesus answered, Thou sayest that I am a king. To this end was I born, and for this cause came I into the world, that I should bear witness unto the truth. Every one that is of the truth heareth my voice.
626 psl. - Though stiff his hand, his voice though weak, He thought even yet, the sooth to speak, That if she loved the harp to hear, He could make music to her ear.
622 psl. - Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks Within his bending sickle's compass come; Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, But bears it out even to the edge of doom. If this be error and upon me proved, I never writ, nor no man ever loved.
379 psl. - They are as venomous as the poison of a serpent, even like the deaf adder, that stoppeth her ears; 5 Which refuseth to hear the voice of the charmer, charm he never so wisely.
629 psl. - WHEN I saw you last, Rose, You were only so high ; How fast the time goes ! Like a bud ere it blows, You just peeped at the sky, When I saw you last, Rose ! Now your petals unclose, Now your May-time is nigh ; How fast the time goes ! And a life, how it grows ! You were scarcely so shy, When I saw you last, Rose...
622 psl. - WHEN I consider how my light is spent, Ere half my days in this dark world and wide, And that one talent which is death to hide Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent To serve therewith my Maker, and present My true account, lest He returning chide; 'Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?' I fondly ask: but Patience, to prevent That murmur, soon replies, 'God doth not need Either man's work or his own gifts. Who best Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best: his state Is kingly: thousands...