The Bookman, Volume 17 |
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American appeared artist asked Bertrand called caricature cartoon Century character Charles Company course criticism Daughter deal death Doubleday edition editor England English eyes face fact feeling figure France French George girl give given hand head heart Hegan illustrated interest Italy John known Lady less Letters light literary literature living look Mary matter means mind Miss months Napoleon nature never night Norris novel once original Paris passed pear period picture play political present printed published reader seems side story success tell things thought tion turned University volume Ward whole woman write written York young
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Página 561 - Out of the night that covers me, Black as the pit from pole to pole, I thank whatever gods may be For my unconquerable soul. In the fell clutch of circumstance I have not winced nor cried aloud. Under the bludgeonings of chance My head is bloody, but unbow'd.
Página 224 - The hand that rounded Peter's dome, And groined the aisles of Christian Rome, Wrought in a sad sincerity: Himself from God he could not free; He builded better than he knew : The conscious stone to beauty grew.
Página 300 - I do not wish to expiate, but to live. My life is for itself and not for a spectacle. I much prefer that it should be of a lower strain, so it be genuine and equal, than that it should be glittering and unsteady. I wish it to be sound and sweet, and not to need diet and bleeding.
Página 278 - No more firing was heard at Brussels — the pursuit rolled miles away. Darkness came down on the field and city : and Amelia was praying for George, who was lying on his face, dead, with a bullet through his heart.
Página 366 - My mind seems to have become a kind of machine for grinding general laws out of large collections of fact, but why this should have caused the atrophy of that part of the brain alone, on which the higher tastes depend, I cannot conceive.
Página 561 - Beyond this place of wrath and tears Looms but the Horror of the shade, And yet the menace of the years Finds and shall find me unafraid. It matters not how strait the gate, How charged with punishments the scroll, I am the master of my fate : I am the captain of my soul.
Página 328 - Perhaps the eighteen months which I passed in this condition, walking to and fro on those miserably dirty lanes, was the worst period of my life. I was now over fifteen, and had come to an age at which I could appreciate at its full the misery of expulsion from all social intercourse. I had not only no friends, but was despised by all my companions.
Página 141 - strange yearning That such souls have, most to lavish Where there's chance of least returning." Oh, we're sunk enough here, God knows! But not quite so sunk that moments, Sure though seldom, are denied us, When the spirit's true endowments Stand out plainly from its false ones, And apprise it if pursuing Or the right way or the wrong way, To its triumph or undoing.
Página 367 - I suppose, have thus suffered; and if I had to live my life again, I would have made a rule to read some poetry and listen to some music at least once every week; for perhaps the parts of my brain now atrophied would thus have been kept active through use. The loss of these tastes is a loss of happiness, and may possibly be injurious to the intellect, and more probably to the moral character, by enfeebling the emotional part of our nature.
Informações bibliográficas
| Título | The Bookman, Volume 17 Volumes 112-130 de American periodical series, 1850-1900 |
| Editora | Dodd, Mead and Company, 1903 |
| Original de | Harvard University |
| Digitalizado | 11 jun. 2007 |
| Exportar citação | BiBTeX EndNote RefMan |