Novels: Pelham. 1895

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G. Routledge & sons limited, 1895

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Página 221 - The times have been That, when the brains were out, the man would die, And there an end ; but now they rise again, With twenty mortal murders on their crowns, And push us from our stools.
Página 22 - Out of the bowels of the harmless earth, Which many a good tall fellow had destroy'd So cowardly ; and but for these vile guns He would himself have been a soldier.
Página 371 - I can give not what men call love : But wilt thou accept not The worship the heart lifts above, And the Heavens reject not : The desire of the moth for the star, Of the night for the morrow, The devotion to something afar From the sphere of our sorrow...
Página 9 - Tell arts they have no soundness, But vary by esteeming, Tell schools they want profoundness, And stand too much on seeming. If arts and schools reply, Give arts and schools the lie. Tell faith it's fled the city, Tell how the country erreth, Tell, manhood shakes off pity, Tell, virtue least preferreth.
Página 433 - It would have saved me much trouble, and your worthy friend, Mr. Fib Fakescrew, some pain, if you had left the door open — instead of shutting me up with your club, as you are pleased to call it!
Página 371 - But wilt thou accept not The worship the heart lifts above, And the Heavens reject not. The desire of the moth for the star, Of the night for the morrow, The devotion to something afar From the sphere of our sorrow?— PB SHELLEY.
Página 214 - Of my mortality, my youth has acted Some scenes of vanity, drawn out at length By varied pleasures — sweetened in the mixture, But tragical in issue. Beauty, pomp, With every sensuality our giddiness Doth frame an idol — are inconstant friends When any troubled passion makes us halt On the unguarded castle of the mind.
Página 86 - ... golden wig (the duchesse never liked me to play with her hair) was on a block close by, and on another table was a set of teeth, d'une blancheur eblouissante.
Página 22 - SHALL I, wasting in despair, Die because a woman's fair? Or make pale my cheeks with care 'Cause another's rosy are? Be she fairer than the day, Or the flowery meads in May, If she think not well of me, What care I how fair she be?
Página 161 - The harmony of their tongues hath into bondage Brought my too diligent ear : for several virtues Have I liked several women ; never any With so full soul, but some defect in her Did quarrel with the noblest grace she owed And put it to the foil...

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