What people are saying - Write a review
We haven't found any reviews in the usual places.
acting Adolphe American artistic Beaupuy beauty better Blois called Canadian Carmel-by-the-Sea character classics club comedy comic criticism dancing death decoration delight drama dream Elizabethan Ellenore Emerson England English experience experimental theatres fact father feel French friends German give Goethe Greek heart Hedge Hedge's Herr Schoenberg human influence interest Irwin Russell Johnson literary literature Little Theatre lived Lorenzo ment Mexico mind modern mother nature never night NORTHANGER ABBEY ottava rima Oxford pantomime passion peace perhaps Petrarch philosophy plays poem poet poetry political Port Gibson present production Russell sacra rappresentazione scene Schoenberg seems sentiment society songs sonnet soul Southern literature spirit stage Stark Young story terza rima Texas thee things Thoreau thou thought tion town tragedy Transcendentalists University verse Walker whig word Wordsworth write wrote young
Page 229 - Haunted forever by the eternal mind, — Mighty Prophet! Seer blest! On whom those truths do rest, Which we are toiling all our lives to find, In darkness lost, the darkness of the grave: Thou, over whom thy Immortality Broods like the Day, a Master o'er a Slave, A Presence which is not to be put by...
Page 206 - Still roll ; where all the aspects of misery Predominate; whose strong effects are such As he must bear, being powerless to redress; And that unless above himself he can Erect himself, how poor a thing is man...
Page 98 - Not in folio. is ! my gorge rises at it. Here hung those lips, that I have kissed I know not how oft. Where be your gibes now ? your gambols ? your songs ? your flashes of merriment, that were wont to set the table on a roar? Not one now, to mock your own grinning1 ? quite chapfallen ? Now, get you to my lady's chamber, and tell her, let her paint an ineh thick, to this favour she must come : make her laugh at that. — Pr'ythee, Horatio, tell me one thing. Hor. What 's that, my lord ? Ham. Dost...
Page 55 - He for subscribers baits his hook, And takes your cash ; but where's the book ? No matter where; wise fear, you know, Forbids the robbing of a foe; But what, to serve our private ends, Forbids the cheating of our friends...
Page 227 - And this deep power in which we exist and whose beatitude is all accessible to us, is not only selfsufficing and perfect in every hour, but the act of seeing and the thing seen, the seer and the spectacle, the subject and the object, are one. We see the world piece by piece, as the sun, the moon, the animal, the tree; but the whole, of which these are the shining parts, is the soul.
Page 21 - War educates the senses, calls into action the will, perfects the physical constitution, brings men into such swift and close collision in critical moments that man measures man. On its own scale, on the virtues it loves, it endures no counterfeit, but shakes the whole society until every atom falls into the place its specific gravity assigns it.1 It presently finds the value of good sense and of foresight, and Ulysses takes rank next to Achilles.
Page 226 - O, when I am safe in my sylvan home, I tread on the pride of Greece and Rome; And when I am stretched beneath the pines, Where the evening star so holy shines, I laugh at the lore and the pride of man, At the sophist schools, and the learned clan; For what are they all, in their high conceit, When man in the bush with God may meet?
Page 150 - A Sonnet is a moment's monument, — Memorial from the Soul's eternity To one dead deathless hour. Look that it be, Whether for lustral rite or dire portent, Of its own arduous fulness reverent : Carve it in ivory or in ebony, As Day or Night may rule ; and let Time see Its flowering crest impearled and orient. A Sonnet is a coin : its face reveals The soul, — its converse, to what Power 'tis due : — Whether for tribute to the...
Page 231 - REFUGE TWILIGHT, a timid fawn, went glimmering by, And Night, the dark-blue hunter, followed fast, Ceaseless pursuit and flight were in the sky, But the long chase had ceased for us at last. We watched together while the driven fawn Hid in the golden thicket of the day. We, from whose hearts pursuit and flight were gone, Knew on the hunter's breast her refuge lay.