The essays of EliaE. Moxon, 1840 |
Vyhledávání v knize
Výsledky 1-5 z 35
Strana 12
... comes back with all the sooth- ing images of indolence , and summer slumbers , and work like play , and innocent idleness , and Elysian exemptions , and life itself a " playing holiday . " Though sufficiently removed from the juris ...
... comes back with all the sooth- ing images of indolence , and summer slumbers , and work like play , and innocent idleness , and Elysian exemptions , and life itself a " playing holiday . " Though sufficiently removed from the juris ...
Strana 33
... comes to him , not spoiled by the sophisticating medium of moral uses . The Universe — that Great Book , as it has been called - is to him indeed , to all intents and purposes , a book , out of which he is doomed to read tedious ...
... comes to him , not spoiled by the sophisticating medium of moral uses . The Universe — that Great Book , as it has been called - is to him indeed , to all intents and purposes , a book , out of which he is doomed to read tedious ...
Strana 43
... comes . But of all the clamorous visitations the welcomest in expectation is the sound that ushers in , or seems to usher in , a Valen- tine . As the raven himself was hoarse that announced the fatal entrance of Duncan , so the knock of ...
... comes . But of all the clamorous visitations the welcomest in expectation is the sound that ushers in , or seems to usher in , a Valen- tine . As the raven himself was hoarse that announced the fatal entrance of Duncan , so the knock of ...
Strana 44
... comes back upon my sense , redolent of sooth- ing recollections . Certainly it is the most delicate of culinary operations . - Male aunts , as somebody calls them , I had none - to remember . By the uncle's side I may be said to have ...
... comes back upon my sense , redolent of sooth- ing recollections . Certainly it is the most delicate of culinary operations . - Male aunts , as somebody calls them , I had none - to remember . By the uncle's side I may be said to have ...
Strana 52
... comes , I shall never believe this boasted point to be anything more than a conventional fiction ; a pageant got up be- tween the sexes , in a certain rank , and at a certain time of life , in which both find their account equally . I ...
... comes , I shall never believe this boasted point to be anything more than a conventional fiction ; a pageant got up be- tween the sexes , in a certain rank , and at a certain time of life , in which both find their account equally . I ...
Běžně se vyskytující výrazy a sousloví
Angelo Anthonio Antipholis Bassanio beauty Benedick Bertram better brother brought called Cassio child Claudio confess count Paris cousin Cymbeline daughter dead dear death Desdemona dreams Dromio duke Ephesus eyes face fancy father fear feel Ganimed gentle gentleman give grace Hamlet hath hear heard heart Helena Hermia Hertfordshire honour husband Iago Illyria Imogen Isabel Katherine kind king knew lady Leonato lived look lord lord Capulet Lysander Lysimachus Macbeth maid manner Marina marriage married master Michael Cassio mind nature never night noble Olivia once Orlando Othello passion Pericles person Petruchio play pleasant poor Portia present prince Prospero Protheus Quakers queen remember replied Romeo Rosalind seemed seen Shylock sight sleep sort speak spirit strange sweet tell thee thing thou thought Timon tion told true truth Tybalt Valentine Viola whist wife wish words young youth
Oblíbené pasáže
Strana 55 - Here at the fountain's sliding foot, Or at some fruit-tree's mossy root, Casting the body's vest aside, My soul into the boughs does glide; There, like a bird, it sits and sings, Then whets and combs its silver wings, And, till prepared for longer flight, Waves in its plumes the various light.
Strana 55 - What wondrous life is this I lead! Ripe apples drop about my head; The luscious clusters of the vine Upon my mouth do crush their wine; The nectarine and curious peach Into my hands themselves do reach; Stumbling on melons, as I pass, Ensnared with flowers, I fall on grass.
Strana 74 - Not a flower, not a flower sweet, • On my black coffin let there be strown ; Not a friend, not a friend greet My poor corpse, where my bones shall be thrown : A thousand thousand sighs to save, Lay me, O ! where Sad true lover never find my grave, To weep there.
Strana 73 - A blank, my lord. She never told her love, But let concealment, like a worm i' the bud, Feed on her damask cheek. She pined in thought And with a green and yellow melancholy She sat, like patience on a monument, Smiling at grief.
Strana 69 - O, I do fear thee, Claudio; and I quake, Lest thou a feverous life shouldst entertain, And six or seven winters more respect Than a perpetual honour. Dar'st thou die ? The sense of death is most in apprehension ; And the poor beetle that we tread upon, In corporal sufferance finds a pang as great As when a giant dies.
Strana 74 - Come away, come away, death, And in sad cypress let me be laid ; Fly away, fly away, breath ; I am slain by a fair cruel maid. My shroud of white, stuck all with yew, O, prepare it; My part of death no one so true Did share it.
Strana 50 - In the same hour came forth fingers of a man's hand, and wrote over against the candlestick upon the plaster of the wall of the king's palace: and the king saw the part of the hand that wrote.
Strana 95 - twas strange, 'twas passing strange; 'Twas pitiful, 'twas wondrous pitiful; She wished she had not heard it, yet she wished That heaven had made her such a man; she thanked me, And bade me, if I had a friend that loved her, I should but teach him how to tell my story, And that would woo her. Upon this hint I spake; She loved me for the dangers I had passed, And I loved her that she did pity them.
Strana 75 - While he was thinking what he should say to his father, and wringing his hands over the smoking remnants of one of those untimely sufferers, an odor assailed his nostrils, unlike any scent which he had before experienced.
Strana 42 - Is constant love deem'd there but want of wit? Are beauties there as proud as here they be ? Do they above love to be loved, and yet Those lovers scorn, whom that love doth possess? Do they call virtue there — ungratefulness!