Satanstoe; or, The family of Littlepage

0 Críticas
As críticas não são validadas, mas a Google verifica a existência de conteúdo falso e remove-o quando é identificado

No interior do livro

Opinião das pessoas - Escrever uma crítica

Não foram encontradas quaisquer críticas nos locais habituais.

Outras edições - Ver tudo

Palavras e frases frequentes

Passagens conhecidas

Página 183 - My heart leaps up when I behold A rainbow in the sky: So was it when my life began ; So is it now I am a man ; So be it when I shall grow old, Or let me die! The child is father of the man; And I could wish my days to be Bound each to each by natural piety.
Página 206 - Between two worlds life hovers like a star, 'Twixt night and morn, upon the horizon's verge. How little do we know that which we are ! How less what we may be...
Página 146 - tis too horrible ! The weariest and most loathed worldly life, ^ That age, ache, penury, and imprisonment Can lay on nature, is a paradise To what we fear of death.
Página 242 - THE flower that smiles to-day To-morrow dies ; All that we wish to stay, Tempts and then flies; What is this world's delight ? Lightning that mocks the night, Brief even as bright. Virtue, how frail it is ! Friendship too rare ! Love, how it sells poor bliss For proud despair ! But we, though soon they fall, Survive their joy and all Which ours we call.
Página 93 - ... know that we should meet no more; They tempted me, my beautiful ! for hunger's power is strong — They tempted me, my beautiful! but I have loved too long. Who said that I had given thee up? Who said that thou wert sold?
Página 153 - What ho ! Lord William, rise in haste ! The water saps thy walls ! ' He rose in haste, — beneath the walls He saw the flood appear; It hemm'd him round, — 'twas midnight now, No human aid was near.
Página 209 - Do you hear, let them be well used ; for they are the abstract, and brief chronicles, of the time. After your death you were better have a bad epitaph, than their ill report while you live. Pol. My lord, I will use them according to their desert.
Página 270 - Paris, that corrupted town, How long in vain I wandered up and down. Where shameless Bacchus, with his drenching hoard, Cold from his cave usurps the morning board. London is lost in smoke and...

Informação bibliográfica