The Amenities of Book-collecting and Kindred Affections
Atlantic Monthly Press, 1918 - 355 strani
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appeared asked became become Boswell Boswell's brought called catalogue character Charles City collection collector copy death delight Dodd dollars edition England English enjoy famous father feel finally followed give Godwin greatest hand Harry hope hundred inscription interest John Johnson knew known lady Lamb later leave letter literature live London look manuscript mind Miss never novel once original paid passed perhaps play pleasure poems pounds present printed PUBLIC published received reference remark remember secured seemed seen shillings showed soon speaking story Streatham Street suggested talk tell Temple Bar things thought thousand Thrale tion told Trollope turn usually volume wife Wilde wish woman write written wrote York young
Stran 85 - The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, Await alike the inevitable hour: The paths of glory lead but to the grave.
Stran xiii - Then all those virgins arose and trimmed their lamps. And the foolish said unto the wise, Give us of your oil, for our lamps are gone out. But the wise answered, saying, Not so, lest there be not enough for us and you; but go ye rather to them that sell, and buy for yourselves.
Stran 79 - I put the cork into the bottle, desired he would be calm, and began to talk to him of the means by which he might be extricated. He then told me that he had a novel ready for the press, which he produced to me. I looked into it, and saw its merit; told the landlady I should soon return, and having gone to a bookseller sold it for sixty pounds. I brought Goldsmith the money, and he discharged his rent, not without rating his landlady in a high tone for having used him so ill.
Stran 242 - To drift with every passion till my soul Is a stringed lute on which all winds can play. Is it for this that I have given away Mine ancient wisdom, and austere control? Methinks my life is a twice-written scroll Scrawled over on some boyish holiday With idle songs for pipe and virelay, Which do but mar the secret of the whole. Surely there was a time I might have trod The sunlit heights...
Stran 101 - Then I told how for seven long years, in hope sometimes, sometimes in despair, yet persisting ever, I courted the fair Alice W n ; and, as much as children could understand, I explained to them what coyness, and difficulty, and denial meant in maidens — when suddenly, turning to Alice, the soul of the first Alice looked out at her eyes with such a reality of re-presentment, that I became in doubt which of them stood there before me, or whose that bright hair was...
Stran 78 - I received one morning a message from poor Goldsmith that he was in great distress, and as it was not in his power to come to me, begging that I would come to him as soon as possible. I sent him a guinea, and promised to come to him directly. I accordingly went as soon as I was dressed, and found that his landlady had arrested him for his rent, at which he was in a violent passion. I perceived that he had already changed my guinea, and had got a bottle of madeira and a glass before him.
Stran 161 - MADAM, — If I interpret your letter right, you are ignominiously married : if it is yet undone, let us once more talk together. If you have abandoned your children and your religion, God forgive your wickedness; if you have forfeited your fame and your country, may your folly do no further mischief.
Stran 250 - Society, as we have constituted it, will have no place for me, has none to offer; but Nature, whose sweet rains fall on unjust and just alike, will have clefts in the rocks where I may hide, and secret valleys in whose silence I may weep undisturbed. She will hang the night with stars so that I may walk abroad in the darkness without stumbling, and send the wind over my footprints so that none may track me to my hurt: she will cleanse me in great waters, and with bitter herbs make me whole.
Stran 150 - Oft in danger, yet alive, We are come to thirty-five ; Long may better years arrive, Better years than thirty-five. Could philosophers contrive Life to stop at thirty-five, Time his hours should never drive O'er the bounds of thirty-five. High to soar, and deep to dive, Nature gives at thirty-five. Ladies, stock and tend your hive, Trifle not at thirty-five : For howe'er we boast and strive, Life declines from thirty-five : He that ever hopes to thrive Must...
Stran 236 - OLIVER GOLDSMITH, A Poet, Naturalist, and Historian, Who left scarcely any style of writing untouched, And touched nothing that he did not adorn...
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