Letters

Priekinis viršelis
J.M. Dent & Company, 1907
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78 psl. - Truly the light is sweet, and a pleasant thing it is for the eyes to behold the sun : but if a man live many years, and rejoice in them all ; yet let him remember the days of darkness ; for they shall be many.
132 psl. - She folded her arms beneath her cloak, And stole to the other side of the oak.
232 psl. - 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...
405 psl. - NOR cold, nor stern, my soul ! yet I detest These scented Rooms, where, to a gaudy throng, Heaves the proud Harlot her distended breast, In intricacies of laborious song.
48 psl. - In all the bravery my friends could show me, In all the faith my innocence could give me, In the best language my true tongue could tell me, And all the broken sighs my sick heart lend me, I sued, and served: long did I love this lady. Long was my travail, long my trade to win her ; With all the duty of my soul, I served her.
284 psl. - ... your soul. They'd keep the cart ten minutes to stow in dirty pipes and broken matches, to show their economy. Then you can find nothing you want for many days after you get into your new lodgings. You must comb your hair with your fingers, wash your hands without soap, go about in dirty gaiters. Were I Diogenes, I would not move out of a kilderkin into a hogshead, though the first had had nothing but small beer in it, and the second reeked claret.
404 psl. - I look upon you as a man, called by sorrow and anguish and a strange desolation of hopes into quietness, and a soul set apart and made peculiar to God; we cannot arrive at any portion of heavenly bliss without in some measure imitating Christ.
25 psl. - Th' endearments of our early days, And ne'er the heart such fondness prove As when we first began to love." I am writing at random, and half-tipsy, what you may not equally understand, as you will be sober when you read it; but my sober and my half-tipsy hours you are alike a sharer in. Good-night. "Then up rose our bard, like a prophet in drink, Craigdoroch, thou'lt soar when creation shall sink.
347 psl. - This very night I am going to leave off tobacco ! Surely there must be some other world in which this unconquerable purpose shall be realised.
176 psl. - ... steams of soups from kitchens, the pantomimes — London itself a pantomime and a masquerade — all these things work themselves into my mind, and feed me without a power of satiating me. The wonder of these sights impels me into night-walks about her crowded streets, and I often shed tears in the motley Strand from fulness of joy at so much life.

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