Books and Their WritersG. Richards Limited, 1920 - 343 psl. |
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3 psl.
Stuart Petre Brodie Mais. WRITERS BY S. P. B. MAIS Author of " From Shakespeare to O. Henry " " " The secret - which is also the reward — of all learning lies in the passion for the search " NEW YORK DODD , MEAD AND COMPANY THE NEW YORK ...
Stuart Petre Brodie Mais. WRITERS BY S. P. B. MAIS Author of " From Shakespeare to O. Henry " " " The secret - which is also the reward — of all learning lies in the passion for the search " NEW YORK DODD , MEAD AND COMPANY THE NEW YORK ...
13 psl.
... Shakespeare's greatest tragedy . I have no favourite author . The last time I dared to write generally of the modern author I was taken to task for omitting to mention Charles Marriott . It never struck my critic on that occasion , I ...
... Shakespeare's greatest tragedy . I have no favourite author . The last time I dared to write generally of the modern author I was taken to task for omitting to mention Charles Marriott . It never struck my critic on that occasion , I ...
18 psl.
... Shakespeare , so I maintain that 90 per cent . of those who read this book will be rewarded if they read the works of the authors mentioned in it . They are not all easy . It is as hard to concen- trate on to Dorothy Richardson as it is ...
... Shakespeare , so I maintain that 90 per cent . of those who read this book will be rewarded if they read the works of the authors mentioned in it . They are not all easy . It is as hard to concen- trate on to Dorothy Richardson as it is ...
51 psl.
... Shakespeare . I found that the mistake I had made was not entirely due to my own ineptitude , but that I had read her too fast . I had hurried over page after page in order to reach the story , to get the hang of the plot , to find some ...
... Shakespeare . I found that the mistake I had made was not entirely due to my own ineptitude , but that I had read her too fast . I had hurried over page after page in order to reach the story , to get the hang of the plot , to find some ...
65 psl.
... that Jane Austen approaches most nearly to the manner of Shakespeare . To be humorous , it has often been pointed out , it is necessary to exaggerate abundantly . E Jane Austen has gone a long way to refute what JANE AUSTEN 65.
... that Jane Austen approaches most nearly to the manner of Shakespeare . To be humorous , it has often been pointed out , it is necessary to exaggerate abundantly . E Jane Austen has gone a long way to refute what JANE AUSTEN 65.
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Alice Meynell artist ballads beauty character Charlotte Brontë charm colour comes Compton Mackenzie critic Cumberland Cymbeline D. H. Lawrence delight Dorothy Richardson emotional England English essay eyes feel genius girl give happy Hearn heart Hugh Walpole human humour imagination intellectual interest J. C. Squire Jane Austen Jenny light literary literature living Lord lover married master mind Miss modern moral nature never night novelist novels pass passion play poems poet poetry prose quotes reader realise Reginald romantic Rupert Brooke Saki secret seems sense Shakespeare sing Sir Edward Cook song soul spirit story Strachey style sweet Swinburne Sylvia Scarlett talk Tennyson things thought tion true truth turn verse W. H. Davies W. J. Turner whole wife woman women wonderful words write young youth
Populiarios ištraukos
61 psl. - It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.
85 psl. - HARK! hark, my soul; angelic songs are swelling O'er earth's green fields, and ocean's wavebeat shore : How sweet the truth those blessed strains are telling Of that new life when sin shall be no more. Angels of Jesus, angels of light, Singing to welcome the pilgrims of the night. 2 Onward we go, for still we hear them singing, 'Come, weary souls, for Jesus bids you come...
210 psl. - The skies were mine, and so were the sun and moon and stars, and all the world was mine; and I the only spectator and enjoyer of it. I knew no churlish proprieties, nor bounds, nor divisions: but all proprieties and divisions were mine; all treasures and the possessors of them. So that with much ado I was corrupted, and made to learn the dirty devices of this world. Which now I unlearn, and become, as it were, a little child again that I may enter into the Kingdom of God.
210 psl. - The streets were mine, the temple was mine, the people were mine, their clothes and gold and silver were mine as much as their sparkling eyes, fair skins and ruddy faces. The skies were mine, and so were the sun and moon and stars, and all the World was mine and I the only spectator and enjoyer of it.
141 psl. - Was there love once? I have forgotten her. Was there grief once? Grief yet is mine. O loved, living, dying, heroic soldier, All, all my joy, my grief, my love, are thine.
216 psl. - You will see Coleridge — he who sits obscure In the exceeding lustre and the pure Intense irradiation of a mind, Which, with its own internal lightning blind, Flags wearily through darkness and despair — A cloud-encircled meteor of the air, A hooded eagle among blinking owls.
52 psl. - Oh! it is only a novel!" replies the young lady; while she lays down her book with affected indifference, or momentary shame. - "It is only Cecilia, or Camilla, or Belinda;" or, in short, only some work in which the greatest powers of the mind are displayed, in which the most thorough knowledge of human nature, the happiest delineation of its varieties, the liveliest effusions of wit and humour are conveyed to the world in the best chosen language.
53 psl. - I could no more write a romance than an epic poem. I could not sit seriously down to write a serious romance under any other motive than to save my life...
162 psl. - THERE is no one among men that has not a special failing: And my failing consists in writing verses. I have broken away from the thousand ties of life: But this infirmity still remains behind. Each time that I look at a fine landscape: Each time that I meet a loved friend, I raise my voice and recite a stanza of poetry And am glad as though a God had crossed my path.
292 psl. - Through mist — an heaven-sustaining bulwark reared Between the east and west ; and half the sky Was roofed with clouds of rich emblazonry, Dark purple at the zenith, which still grew Down the steep west into a wondrous hue Brighter than burning gold, even to the rent Where the swift sun yet paused in his descent Among the many-folded hills. They were Those famous Euganean hills, which bear, As seen from Lido through the harbour piles, The likeness of a clump of peaked isles.