The True Story of My Life: An Autobiography by Alice M. Diehl, Novelist-writer-musician, with a Photogravure Portrait |
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The True Story of My Life: An Autobiography by Alice M. Diehl, Novelist ... Alice Mangold Diehl No preview available - 2017 |
The True Story of My Life: An Autobiography by Alice M. Diehl, Novelist ... Alice Mangold Diehl No preview available - 2018 |
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Popular passages
Page 339 - ... men all remind us We can make our lives sublime, And, departing, leave behind us Footprints on the sands of time; Footprints, that perhaps another, Sailing o'er life's solemn main, A forlorn and shipwrecked brother, Seeing, shall take heart again. Let us, then, be up and doing, With a heart for any fate; Still achieving, still pursuing, Learn to labour and to wait.
Page 108 - Blessed is he who expecteth nothing, for he shall not be disappointed.
Page 245 - After waiting awhile in a Moorish hall of the theatrical kind — nothing seemed lasting or solid in that villa — I was pompously and condescendingly escorted by a tall man-servant along an equally Mauresque corridor to a Mauresque boudoir, where the tall, bedizened "diva
Page 82 - It was all a storm of corrections, given between his favourite pastime of fly and wasp killing with a leathern flap at the end of a stick. From his tirade while I was at the piano I learnt only an intense endurance of the worst mental torment which one human being can inflict upon another.
Page 67 - I am gone, I am quite happy to go." Softened though the news was by herself in that unselfish consideration for others which was one of the beautiful traits of a wonderful young creature, I felt her loss, and missed her letters, severely.
Page 64 - Seated in her chair among her exquisitely arranged impedimenta, she spoke of God to me, with a light in her sweet, faded brown eyes which seemed to make her transparent features luminous. She spoke of law, order in life being dear to God ; that we could not really love Him Who loved us so dearly if we did not love what He loved.
Page 64 - Then came breakfast. Then my morning was parcelled out. So much piano practice, so much reading with my godmother, a quarter of an hour in the garden sandwiched in. Dressing for luncheon. Luncheon (my dinner), at which there were consultations between the ladies as to the exact quantity I was to consume. " I did not know I was coming to school...
Page 245 - He was quite short — a dark, compact little man who seemed a human bantam-cock — and, I should imagine, as silly, opinionated, and strutting a creature as his prototype.
Page 207 - Her cleverness was as alarming as the brilliant ease with which she displayed it. Her straight, handsome features lent her a sternness which was not belied by her dark, searching eyes.
Page 114 - ... with dark hair curling at the ends brushed back from a high forehead, with penetrating eyes, an aquiline nose, and a pensive, sad expression about his delicate lips...