The Literary SpotlightJohn Chipman Farrar George H. Doran Company, 1924 - 342 psl. |
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Kiti leidimai - Peržiūrėti viską
Pagrindiniai terminai ir frazės
American Poetry Amy Lowell artist beauty BIBLIOGRAPHY Bookman born Boston Burton Rascoe Canby CARL VAN DOREN charming Chicago color Contemporary American Novelists desert Don Marquis editor Edna Ferber Essays eyes Fannie Hurst Farrar fiction Fitzgerald Floyd Dell friends Frost Garden City genius girl H. L. Mencken hair Henry human humor imagine James Branch Cabell Johnson Joseph Hergesheimer letters literary literature lives look Macmillan magazine Main Street married Mary Austin Masters mind Miss Ferber Nathan never newspaper novel O'Brien once Padraic Colum perhaps person play poems poet Professor Matthews published reader Reedy Review seems sense Sherman Sherwood Anderson short stories Sinclair Lewis sort soul Spoon River talk tell things thought tion to-day truth University vanity verse Vincent Millay William Rose Benét woman women words writing written wrote young younger youth
Populiarios ištraukos
78 psl. - My candle burns at both ends; It will not last the night; But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends — It gives a lovely light!
220 psl. - I'd like to get away from earth awhile And then come back to it and begin over. May no fate willfully misunderstand me And half grant what I wish and snatch me away Not to return. Earth's the right place for love: I don't know where it's likely to go better. I'd like to go by climbing a birch tree, And climb black branches up a snow-white trunk Toward heaven., till the tree could bear no more, But dipped its top and set me down again.
82 psl. - OH, THINK not I am faithful to a vow! Faithless am I save to love's self alone. Were you not lovely I would leave you now: After the feet of beauty fly my own. Were you not still my hunger's rarest food, And water ever to my wildest thirst, I would desert you — think not but I would ! — And seek another as I sought you first. But you are mobile as the veering air, And all your charms more changeful than the tide, Wherefore to be inconstant is no care...
84 psl. - ... is withered, And above my head Yellow pollen gathered All the empty afternoon? When sweet lovers pause and wonder Who am I that lie thereunder, Hidden from the moon? This my personal death? That my lungs be failing To inhale the breath Others are exhaling? This my subtle spirit's end? Ah, when the thawed winter splashes Over these chance dust and ashes, Weep not me, my friend!
220 psl. - As I sit here, and oftentimes, I wish I could be monarch of a desert land I could devote and dedicate forever To the truths we keep coming back and back to. So desert it would have to be, so walled By mountain ranges half in summer snow, No one would covet it or think it worth The pains of conquering to force change on.
81 psl. - Thursday And if I loved you Wednesday, Well, what is that to you? I do not love you Thursday So much is true. And why you come complaining Is more than I can see. I loved you Wednesday, - yes - but what Is that to me?
220 psl. - For, dear me, why abandon a belief Merely because it ceases to be true. Cling to it long enough, and not a doubt It will turn true again, for so it goes. Most of the change we think we see in life Is due to truths being in and out of favor.
131 psl. - Harlequin on a rope ladder dropped from the Ritz and both go morris-dancing amuck on a case of bootleg liquor; Pantaloon is pinked with an epigram that withers him up like a leaf; the Policeman is tripped by Harlequin and falls into the Pulitzer Fountain.
126 psl. - Keats, lacks both the intellectual force and the emotional imagination to give body and outline to the material which he secretes in such enormous abundance. With the seeds he took from Keats's garden, one of the best-arranged gardens in England, he exfloreated so profusely that he blotted out the path of his own. Michael Fane, the hero of Sinister Street, was swamped in the forest of description; he was smothered by creepers and columbine.
131 psl. - Fitzgerald is a rather childlike fellow, very much wrapped up in his dream of himself and his projection of it on paper. For a person of his mental agility, he is extraordinarily little occupied with the general affairs of the world: like a woman, he is not much given to abstract or impersonal thought. Conversations about politics or general ideas have a way of snapping back to Fitzgerald.
Šią knygą minintys šaltiniai
A Varied Harvest– The Life and Works of Henry Blake Fuller Kenneth Scambray Trumpų ištraukų rodinys - 1987 |