Works: Letters

Priekinis viršelis
J. M. Dent & Company, 1903
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80 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.
155 psl. - What neat repast shall feast us, light and choice, Of Attic taste, with wine, whence we may rise To hear the lute well touched, or artful voice Warble immortal notes and Tuscan air?
35 psl. - Coleridge, wonderful as it is to tell, I have never once been otherwise than collected and calm ; even on the dreadful day, and in the midst of the terrible scene, I preserved a tranquillity which bystanders may have construed into indifference — a tranquillity, not of despair. Is it folly or sin in me to say that it was a religious principle that most supported me ? I allow much to other favourable circumstances.
27 psl. - Coleridge, you know not my supreme happiness at having one on earth (though counties separate us) whom I can call a friend. Remember you those tender lines of Logan ? — ' Our broken friendships we deplore, And loves of youth that are no more ; No after friendships e'er can raise Th' endearments of our early days, And ne'er the heart such fondness prove, As when we first began to love.
190 psl. - I ought before this to have replied to your very kind invitation into Cumberland. With you and your sister I could gang anywhere ; but I am afraid whether I shall ever be able to afford so desperate a journey. Separate from the pleasure of your company, I don't much care if I never see a mountain in my life.
259 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...
301 psl. - I have done two books since the failure of my farce ; they will both be out this Summer. The one is a juvenile book — the Adventures of Ulysses...
431 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.
145 psl. - She folded her arms beneath her cloak, And stole to the other side of the oak.
152 psl. - For God's sake (I never was more serious) don't make me ridiculous any more by terming me gentle-hearted in print, or do it in better verses.

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