The Wisdom of Robert Louis Stevenson: Collected and Arranged from His Writings

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Brentano's, 1906 - 274 páginas
 

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Página 96 - Under the wide and starry sky, Dig the grave and let me lie. Glad did I live and gladly die, And I laid me down with a will. This be the verse you grave for me: Here he lies where he longed to be; Home is the sailor, home from sea, And the hunter home from the hill.
Página 98 - For my part, I travel not to go anywhere, but to go. I travel for travel's sake. The great affair is to move...
Página 107 - I cannot see the wit of walking and talking at the same time. When I am in the country, I wish to vegetate like the country.
Página 28 - When the Greeks made their fine saying that those whom the gods love die young, I cannot help believing they had this sort of death also in their eye. For surely, at whatever age it overtake the man, this is to die young.
Página 203 - Night is a dead monotonous period under a roof; but in the open world it passes lightly, with its stars and dews and perfumes, and the hours are marked by changes in the face of Nature. What seems a kind of temporal death to people choked between walls and curtains, is only a light and living slumber to the man who sleeps afield.
Página 138 - ... stupidity. Some people swallow the universe like a pill ; they travel on through the world, like smiling images pushed from behind. For God's sake give me the young man who has brains enough to make a fool of himself!
Página 204 - It is then that the cock first crows; not this time to announce the dawn, but, like a cheerful watchman, speeding the course of night. Cattle awake on the meadows; sheep break their fast on dewy hillsides, and change to a new lair among the ferns; and houseless men, who have lain down with the fowls, open their dim eyes and behold the beauty of the night.
Página 21 - Do the old men mind it, as a matter of fact? Why, no. They were never merrier; they have their grog at night, and tell the raciest stories; they hear of the death of people about their own age, or even younger, not as if it was a...
Página 174 - Egoist is a satire ; so much must be allowed ; but it is a satire of singular quality, which tells you nothing of that obvious mote, which is engaged from first to last with that invisible beam. It is yourself that is hunted down ; these are your own faults that are dragged into the day and numbered, with lingering relish, with cruel cunning and precision. A young friend of Mr. Meredith's (as I have the story) came to him in an agony. " This is too bad of you,
Página 232 - The difficulty of literature is not to write, but to write what you mean; not to affect your reader, but to affect him precisely as you wish.

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