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Aphorisms on the Mental Culture and Training of a Child ... Addressed to Parents
Pye Henry Chavasse
Visualização completa - 1872
Aphorisms of the Mental Culture and Training of a Child: And on Various ...
Pye Henry Chavasse
Não há visualização disponível - 2017
Aphorisms on the Mental Culture and Training of a Child - And on Various ...
Pye Henry Chavasse
Não há visualização disponível - 2010
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Página 126 - tis in ourselves that we are thus, or thus. Our bodies are our gardens ; to the which our wills are gardeners : so that if we will plant nettles, or sow lettuce ; set hyssop, and weed up thyme ; supply it with one gender of herbs, or distract it with many; either to have it steril with idleness, or manured with industry ; why, the power and corrigible authority of this lies in our wills.
Página 193 - You would be, sweet madam, if your miseries were in the same abundance as your good fortunes are : And yet, for aught I see, they are as sick, that surfeit with too much, as they that starve with nothing...
Página 177 - Still to be neat, still to be drest, As you were going to a feast ; Still to be powdered, still perfumed: Lady, it is to be presumed, Though art's hid causes are not found, All is not sweet, all is not sound. Give me a look, give me a face; That makes simplicity a grace ; Robes loosely flowing, hair as free : Such sweet neglect more taketh me, Than all the adulteries of art ; They strike mine eyes, but not my heart.
Página 65 - If all the year were playing holidays, To sport would be as tedious as to work; But when they seldom come, they wish'd for come, And nothing pleaseth but rare accidents.
Página 121 - Are your cowslips of the meadows Like our weeds anear the mine ? Leave us quiet in the dark of the coal-shadows, From your pleasures fair and fine !
Página 114 - Poor indeed thou must be, if around thee Thou no ray of light and joy canst throw ; If no silken cord of love hath bound thee To some little world, through weal and woe...
Página 85 - Stop and consider ! life is but a day ; A fragile dewdrop on its perilous way From a tree's summit ; a poor Indian's sleep While his boat hastens to the monstrous steep Of Montmorenci. Why so sad a moan ? Life is the rose's hope while yet unblown ; The reading of an ever-changing tale ; The light uplifting of a maiden's veil ; A pigeon tumbling in clear summer air ; A laughing schoolboy, without grief or care, Riding the springy branches of an elm.
Página 47 - You must know, Sir, that I look upon the pleasure which we take in a garden, as one of the most innocent delights in human life. A garden was the habitation of our first parents before the fall. It is naturally apt to fill the mind with calmness and tranquillity, and to lay all its turbulent passions at rest. It gives us a great insight into the contrivance and wisdom of Providence, and suggests innumerable subjects for meditation.