Fish-tails, and Some True Ones

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E.Arnold, 1897 - 255 Seiten
 

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Seite 7 - True happiness is of a retired nature, and an enemy to pomp and noise ; it arises, in the first place, from the enjoyment of one's self ; and, in the next, from the friendship and conversation of a few select companions...
Seite 105 - Breathes there the man, with soul so dead, Who never to himself hath said, This is my own, my native land ? Whose heart hath ne'er within him burned, As home his footsteps he hath turned, From wandering on a foreign strand...
Seite 35 - To-morrow is saint Crispian :' Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars, And say 'These wounds I had on Crispin's day.' Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot, But he'll remember with advantages What feats he did that day...
Seite 241 - No where by thee my steps shall be, For ever and for ever. But here will sigh thine alder tree, And here thine aspen shiver; And here by thee will hum the bee, For ever and for ever. A...
Seite 244 - Biron they call him ; but a merrier man, Within the limit of becoming mirth, I never spent an hour's talk withal : His eye begets occasion for his wit ; For every object that the one doth catch The other turns to a mirth-moving jest...
Seite 46 - Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, Is our destined end or way; But to act, that each tomorrow Find us farther than today.
Seite 130 - NOT a breath of air Ruffles the bosom of this leafy glen. From the brook's margin, wide around, the trees Are steadfast as the rocks ; the brook itself, Old as the hills that feed it from afar, Doth rather deepen than disturb the calm Where all things else are still and motionless.
Seite 63 - And, seeing ignorance is the curse of God, Knowledge the wing wherewith we fly to heaven, Unless you be possess'd with devilish spirits, You cannot but forbear to murder me.
Seite 191 - Alas ! poor Yorick. I knew him, Horatio ; a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy ; he hath borne me on his back a thousand times ; and now, how abhorred in my imagination it 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?
Seite 113 - Now I hold it is not decent for a scientific gent To say another is an ass— at least, to all intent; Nor should the individual who happens to be meant Reply by heaving rocks at him, to any great extent.

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