The Cornhill Magazine, Volume 22

Capa
William Makepeace Thackeray
Smith, Elder and Company, 1870
 

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Página 599 - The treasures of the deep are not so precious As are the conceal'd comforts of a man Locked up in woman's love. I scent the air Of blessings, when I come but near the house. What a delicious breath marriage sends forth. The violet bed's not sweeter.
Página 280 - Secondly, however, we may say, these Historical Novels have taught all men this truth, which looks like a truism, and yet was as good as unknown to writers of history and others, till so taught: that the bygone ages of the world were actually filled by living men, not by protocols, state-papers, controversies and abstractions of men.
Página 282 - Shakspeare (whom you and every playhouse bill Style the divine! the matchless ! what you will,) For gain, not glory, wing'd his roving flight, And grew immortal in his own despite.
Página 281 - I should say, was to the genus quack, above all to the genus acrid-quack ; these, though never so clear-starched, blandsmiling and beneficent, he absolutely would have no trade with. Their very sugar-cake was unavailing. He said with emphasis, as clearly as barking could say it:
Página 480 - Each spake words of high disdain And insult to his heart's best brother: They parted — ne'er to .meet again ! But never either found another To free the hollow heart from paining — They stood aloof, the scars remaining, Like cliffs which had been rent asunder; A dreary sea now flows between. But neither heat, nor frost, nor thunder, Shall wholly do away, I ween, The marks of that which once hath been.
Página 358 - I am dying, Egypt, dying ; only I here importune death awhile, until Of many thousand kisses the poor last I lay upon thy lips.— Cleo.
Página 478 - A man could not write with life unless he were heated by revenge ; for to make a satire without resentments, upon the cold notions of philosophy, was as if a man would, in cold blood, cut men's throats who had never offended him. And he said, the lies in these libels came often in as ornaments, that could not be spared without spoiling the beauty of the poem.
Página 356 - twas but gratitude I paid his love. The worst your malice can, Is but to say the greatest of mankind Has been my slave. The next, but far above him In my esteem, is he whom law calls yours, But whom his love made mine.
Página 288 - Who would not laugh if such a man there be? Who would not weep if Atticus were he ? ALEXANDER POPE.
Página 471 - Some fretful tempers wince at every touch, You always do too little or too much : You speak with life, in hopes to entertain, Your elevated voice goes through the hrain ; You fall at once into a lower key, That's worse — the drone-pipe of an humblehee.

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