French poets and novelists (Google eBook)

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Macmillan, 1878 - Authors, French - 439 pages
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Page 33 - Les plus désespérés sont les chants les plus beaux, Et j'en sais d'immortels qui sont de purs sanglots.
Page 309 - The great question as to a poet or a novelist is, How does he feel about life? what, in the last analysis, is his philosophy ? When vigorous writers have reached maturity we are at liberty to look in their works for some expression of a total view of the world they have been so actively observing. This is the most interesting thing their works offer us.
Page 95 - As I listened to these persons, I imbibed their life, I felt their ragged clothing on my back, my feet walked in their broken shoes; their desires, their wants, passed into my soul, or my soul passed into theirs. It was the dream of a waking man.
Page 47 - Point de contraintes fausses ! Mais que pour marcher droit Tu chausses, Muse, un cothurne étroit. Fi du rhythme commode, Comme un soulier trop grand, Du mode Que tout pied quitte et prend...
Page 346 - Try to appreciate the excellences of others than the first love, remembering that ' ' there are as good fish in the sea as ever were caught...
Page 76 - Mystery, it seems to us that to take him with more than a certain degree of seriousness is to lack seriousness one's self. An enthusiasm for Poe is the mark of a decidedly primitive stage of reflection.
Page 43 - The author's manner is so light and^ true, so really creative, his fancy so alert, his taste so happy, his humour so genial, that he makes illusion almost as contagious as laughter...
Page 319 - Life is, in fact, a battle. On this point optimists and pessimists agree. Evil is insolent and strong; beauty enchanting but rare; goodness very apt to be weak; folly very apt to be defiant; wickedness to carry the day; imbeciles to be in great places, people of sense in small, and mankind generally, unhappy. But the world as it stands is no illusion, no phantasm, no evil dream of a night; we wake up to it again for ever and ever; we can neither forget it nor deny it nor dispense with it. We can...
Page 280 - ... out of harmony with his native land — of his having what one may call a poet's quarrel with it. He loves the old, and he is unable to see where the new is drifting. American readers will peculiarly appreciate this state of mind; if they had a native novelist of a large pattern, it would probably be, in a degree, his own.
Page 316 - The fermentation of social change has thrown ' to the surface in Russia a deluge of hollow pretensions and vicious presumptions, amid which the love either of old virtues or of new achievements finds very little gratification.

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