Retrospect: Reminiscences and Impressions of a Hunter Naturalist in Three Continents, 1851-1928

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Gurney and Jackson, 1928 - 353 Seiten

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Seite 126 - Go, wondrous creature.' mount where science guides; Go, measure earth, weigh air, and state the tides: Instruct the planets in what orbs to run, Correct old time, and regulate the sun; Go, soar with Plato to th...
Seite viii - A perfect judge will read each work of wit With the same spirit that its author writ ; Survey the whole, nor seek slight faults to find Where nature moves, and rapture warms the mind ; Nor lose, for that malignant dull delight, The generous pleasure to be charm'd with wit.
Seite viii - Whoever thinks a faultless piece to see, Thinks what ne'er was, nor is, nor e'er shall be.
Seite iii - I find this conclusion more impressed upon me, — that the greatest thing a human soul ever does in this world is to see something, and tell what it saw in a plain way. Hundreds of people can talk for one who can think, but thousands can think for one who can see. To see clearly is poetry, prophecy, and religion, — all in one.
Seite 112 - ... as different as red from green, of which we have no conception. These and a thousand other questions remain for solution. The familiar world which surrounds us may be a totally different place to other animals. To them it may be full of music which we cannot hear, of color which we cannot see, of sensations which we cannot conceive.
Seite viii - In every work regard the writer's end, Since none can compass more than they intend; And if the means be just, the conduct true, Applause, in spite of trivial faults, is due.
Seite 122 - Read Homer once, and you can read no more; For all books else appear so mean, so poor, Verse will seem prose: but still persist to read, And Homer will be all the books you need.
Seite vii - Babel itself with our mirth; And o'erthrew them with prophesying To the old of the new world's worth; For each age is a dream that is dying, Or one that is coming to birth.
Seite 69 - ... Yet well I ken the banks where Amaranths blow, Have traced the fount whence streams of nectar flow. Bloom, O ye Amaranths ! bloom for whom ye may, For me ye bloom not ! Glide, rich streams, away ! With lips unbrightened, wreathless brow, I stroll : And would you learn the spells that drowse my soul ? WORK WITHOUT HOPE draws nectar in a sieve, And HOPE without an object cannot live.
Seite 143 - Level plains of smooth sand— a little rosier than buff, a little paler than salmon— are interrupted only by occasional peaks of rock— black, stark and shapeless. Rainless storms dance tirelessly over the hot crisp surface of the ground. The fine sand driven by the wind, gathers into deep drifts, and silts among the dark rocks of the hills, exactly as snow hangs about an Alpine summit; only it is fiery snow such as might fall in hell.

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