Eliana: Being the Hitherto Uncollected Writings of Charles Lamb

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Hurd and Houghton, 1864 - 437 Seiten

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Seite 195 - Who sees with equal eye, as God of all, A hero perish, or a sparrow fall, Atoms or systems into ruin hurled, And now a bubble burst, and now a world.
Seite 24 - Kent. Vex not his ghost. O, let him pass! He hates him That would upon the rack of this tough world Stretch him out longer.
Seite 139 - Sun, and sky, and breeze, and solitary walks, and summer holidays, and the greenness of fields, and the delicious juices of meats and fishes, and society, and the cheerful glass, and candlelight, and fireside conversations, and innocent vanities, and jests, and irony itself — do these things go out with life...
Seite 98 - My meat shall all come in, in Indian shells, Dishes of agate set in gold, and studded With emeralds, sapphires, hyacinths, and rubies. The tongues of carps, dormice, and camels...
Seite 43 - ... by an exposure to the influence of heaven in a long flow of generations, from the hard, acidulous, metallic tincture of the spring.
Seite 158 - I shall detain you no longer in the demonstration of what we should not do, but straight conduct you to a hill-side, where I will point you out the right path of a virtuous and noble education; laborious indeed at the first ascent, but else so smooth, so green, so full of goodly prospect and melodious sounds on every side, that the harp of Orpheus was not more charming.
Seite 185 - He was too much of the boyman. The toga virilis never sate gracefully on his shoulders. The impressions of infancy had burnt into him, and he resented the impertinence of manhood.
Seite 18 - The greatest pleasure I know is to do a good action by stealth, and to have it found out by accident.
Seite 140 - When I heard of the death of Coleridge, it was without grief. It seemed to me that he long had been on the confines of the next world, - that he. had a hunger for eternity. I grieved then that I could not grieve. But since, I feel how great a part he was of me. His great and dear spirit haunts me. I cannot think a thought, I cannot make a criticism on men and books, without an ineffectual turning and reference to him.
Seite 174 - How it staggered me to see the fine things in their ore ! interlined, corrected ! as if their words were mortal...

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