The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 48 (Google eBook)

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Atlantic Monthly Company, 1881 - Current events
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Page 553 - And the king was much moved, and went up to the chamber over the gate, and wept : and as he went, thus he said, O my son Absalom, my son, my son...
Page 705 - A Book of Verses underneath the Bough, A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread and Thou Beside me singing in the Wilderness Oh, Wilderness were Paradise enow!
Page 204 - I have neither the scholar's melancholy, which is emulation ; nor the musician's which is fantastical ; nor the courtier's, which is proud ; nor the soldier's, which is ambitious ; nor the lawyer's, which is politic ; nor the lady's, which is nice ; nor the lover's, which is all these : but it is a melancholy of mine own, compounded of many simples, extracted from many objects, and, indeed, the sundry contemplation of my travels, in which my often rumination wraps me in a most humorous sadness.
Page 618 - ... we could not now take time for further search or consideration, our victuals being much spent, especially our beer, and it being now the 19th of December.
Page 231 - Her notion of the aristocratic life was simply the union of great knowledge with great liberty, the knowledge would give one a sense of duty and the liberty a sense of enjoyment.
Page 472 - That it should come to this! But two months dead: nay, not so much, not two: So excellent a king; that was, to this, Hyperion to a satyr; so loving to my mother That he might not beteem the winds of heaven Visit her face too roughly.
Page 81 - Her light step drew a mass of drapery behind it; her intelligent head sustained a majesty of ornament. The free, keen girl had become quite another person; what he saw was the fine lady who was supposed to represent something. What did Isabel represent? Ralph asked himself; and he could only answer by saying that she represented Gilbert Osmond. "Good heavens, what a function!
Page 536 - Nature impales men, breaks them as if on the wheel, casts them to be devoured by wild beasts, burns them to death, crushes them with stones like the first Christian martyr, starves them with hunger, freezes them with cold, poisons them by the quick or slow venom of her exhalations, and has hundreds of other hideous deaths in reserve, such as the ingenious cruelty of a Nabis or a Domitian never surpassed.
Page 472 - I remember? why, she would hang on him, As if increase of appetite had grown By what it fed on; and yet, within a month, Let me not think on't: Frailty, thy name is woman!
Page 261 - Tis, indeed, as good fun as a Cynic could ask, To see how this cockney-bred setter of rabbits Takes gravely the Lord of the Forest to task, And judges of Lions by puppy-dog habits.

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