A Bookman's Letters

Priekinis viršelis
Hodder and Stoughton, 1913 - 438 psl.
A selection from hundreds of similar letters contributed to the British weekly under the general title "The correspondence of Claudius Clear" and addressed to a large popular audience interested in books and authors... Some pages are included from contributions to the North American review, Blackwood's magazine and the Contemporary review - preface.

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Populiarios ištraukos

27 psl. - OUR age is retrospective. It builds the sepulchres of the fathers. It writes biographies, histories, and criticism. The foregoing generations beheld God and nature face to face; we, through their eyes. Why should not we also enjoy an original relation to the universe?
396 psl. - Many a night from yonder ivied casement, ere I went to rest, Did I look on great Orion sloping slowly to the West. Many a night I saw the Pleiads, rising thro' the mellow shade, Glitter like a swarm of fire-flies tangled in a silver braid.
178 psl. - Shakspeare has had neither equal nor second. But among the writers who, in the point which we have noticed, have approached nearest to the manner of the great master, we have no hesitation in placing Jane Austen, a woman of whom England is justly proud. She has given us a multitude of characters, all, in a certain sense, common-place, all such as we meet every day.
28 psl. - A subtle chain of countless rings The next unto the farthest brings, The eye reads omens where it goes, And speaks all languages the rose; And, striving to be man, the worm Mounts through all the spires of form.
13 psl. - Crouch'd fawning in the weed. Most loving is she? Ah me, my mountain shepherd, that my arms Were wound about thee, and my hot lips prest Close, close to thine in that quick-falling dew Of fruitful kisses, thick as Autumn rains Flash in the pools of whirling Simois.
388 psl. - In each human heart terror survives The ruin it has gorged: the loftiest fear All that they would disdain to think were true: Hypocrisy and custom make their minds The fanes of many a worship, now outworn. They dare not devise good for man's estate, And yet they know not that they do not dare.
69 psl. - He used frequently to observe that men might be very eminent in a profession, without our perceiving any particular power of mind in them in conversation.
418 psl. - It was on the day, or rather night, of the 27th of June, 1787, between the hours of eleven and twelve, that I wrote the last lines of the last page in a summer-house in my garden. After laying down my pen, I took several turns in a berceau, or covered walk of acacias, which commands a prospect of the country, the lake, and the mountains. The air was temperate, the skv was serene, the silver orb of the moon was reflected from the waters, and all nature was silent.
23 psl. - Horatio, what a wounded name, Things standing thus unknown, shall live behind me ! If thou didst ever hold me in thy heart, Absent thee from felicity a while And in this harsh world draw thy breath in pain To tell my story.
58 psl. - He was a cynic : by his life all wrought Of generous acts, mild words, and gentle ways ; His heart wide open to all kindly thought, His hand so quick to give, his tongue to praise.

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