Memoirs of the Life of Sir Walter Scott, Bart. ...

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R. Cadell, 1837 - Počet stran: 486
 

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Strana 292 - My wits begin to turn. Come on, my boy : how dost, my boy ? art cold ? I am cold myself. Where is this straw, my fellow ? The art of our necessities is strange, That can make vile things precious. Come, your hovel. Poor fool and knave, I have one part in my heart That's sorry yet for thee.
Strana 371 - Doeg, though without knowing how or why, Made still a blundering kind of melody; Spurred boldly on, and dashed through thick and thin. Through sense and nonsense, never out nor in...
Strana 321 - I am sensible, that if there be anything good about my poetry or prose either, it is a hurried frankness of composition, which pleases soldiers, sailors, and young people of bold and active disposition.
Strana 264 - I ever met with. The Big Bow-wow Strain I can do myself like any now going ; but the exquisite touch, which renders ordinary commonplace things and characters interesting, from the truth of the description and the sentiment, is denied to me.
Strana 138 - If the Duke marries her, he ensures an immense fortune ; if she marries him, she has the first rank. If he marries a woman older than himself by twenty years, she marries a man younger in wit by twenty degrees.
Strana 247 - Cock up your beaver, and cock it fu' sprush, We'll over the Border and give them a brush ; There's somebody there we'll teach better behaviour — Hey, Johnnie, lad, cock up your beaver.
Strana 169 - They are good certainly — excellent; but then you must laugh, and that is always severe to me. When I do laugh in sincerity, the joke must be or seem unpremeditated. I could not help thinking, in the midst of the glee, what gloom had lately been over the minds of three of the company.
Strana 212 - This was the man, quaint, capricious, and playful, with all his immense genius. He wrote from impulse, never from effort; and therefore I have always reckoned Burns and Byron the most genuine poetical geniuses of my time, and half a century before me. We have, however, many men of high poetical talent, but none, I think, of that ever-gushing and perennial fountain of natural water.
Strana 252 - Poet, where the poor starveling of the Muses is engaged, when in the abyss of poverty, in writing an Essay on Payment of the National Debt; and his wall is adorned with a plan of the mines of Peru.
Strana 325 - I wonder often how Tom Campbell, with so much real genius, has not maintained a greater figure in the public eye than he has done of late. The Magazine* seems to have paralyzed him. The author, not only of the Pleasures of Hope, but of Hohenlinden, Lochiel, &c., should have been at the very top of the tree.

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