The Highways of Literature, Or, What to Read and how to Read

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William P. Nimmo, 1912 - 244 psl.
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101 psl. - As bees In spring-time, when the Sun with Taurus rides, Pour forth their populous youth about the hive In clusters; they among fresh dews and flowers Fly to and fro, or on the smoothed plank, The suburb of their straw-built citadel, New rubbed with balm, expatiate, and confer Their state affairs: so thick the aery crowd Swarmed and were straitened; till, the signal given, Behold a wonder!
97 psl. - Now, my co-mates and brothers in exile, Hath not old custom made this life more sweet Than that of painted pomp? Are not these woods More free from peril than the envious court? Here feel we but the penalty of Adam, — The seasons...
153 psl. - If you have tears, prepare to shed them now. You all do know this mantle : I remember The first time ever Caesar put it on ; 'Twas on a summer's evening, in his tent, That day he overcame the Nervii : Look, in this place ran Cassius...
164 psl. - All the world's a stage, And all the men and women merely players: They have their exits, and their entrances; And one man in his time plays many parts, His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant, Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms; And then, the whining school-boy, with his satchel, And shining morning face, creeping like snail Unwillingly to school: And then, the lover; Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad Made to his mistress...
27 psl. - The mathematics, and the metaphysics, Fall to them, as you find your stomach serves you: No profit grows where is no pleasure ta'en ; — In brief, sir, study what you most affect.
154 psl. - O, now you weep; and, I perceive, you feel The dint of pity : these are gracious drops. Kind souls, what ! weep you, when you but behold Our Caesar's vesture wounded ? Look you here, Here is himself, marr'd, as you see, with traitors.
124 psl. - Shylock, we would have moneys : ' you say so ; You, that did void your rheum upon my beard And foot me as you spurn a stranger cur Over your threshold : moneys is your suit. What should I say to you ? Should I not say ' Hath a dog money ? is it possible A cur can lend three thousand ducats...
122 psl. - tis time to do't. Hell is murky. Fie, my lord, fie ! a soldier, and afeard? What need we fear who knows it, when none can call our power to account? Yet who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him? Doct. Do you mark that? Lady M. The thane of Fife had a wife; where is she now? What, will these hands ne'er be clean? No more o' that, my lord, no more o' that: you mar all with this starting.
126 psl. - I - that am curtailed of this fair proportion, Cheated of feature by dissembling nature, Deformed, unfinished, sent before my time Into this breathing world scarce half made up, And that so lamely and unfashionable That dogs bark at me as I halt by them...
100 psl. - The crow doth sing as sweetly as the lark, When neither is attended ; and, I think, The nightingale, if she should sing by day, When every goose is cackling, would be thought No better a musician than the wren.

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