Venetian Life

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Hurd and Houghton, 1867 - Venice (Italy) - 401 pages
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Page 134 - ... amor divino mosse da prima quelle cose belle ; si che a bene sperar m' era cagione, di quella fera alla gaietta pelle, l' ora del tempo e la dolce stagione : ma non si, che paura non mi desse la vista, che mi apparve, d' un leone. Questi parca che contra me venesse con la test...
Page 30 - ... which it is studied, constant occasion for annoyance or delight, enthusiasm or sadness. I fancy that the ignorant impressions of the earlier days after my arrival need scarcely be set down even in this perishable record ; but I would not wholly forget how, though isolated from all acquaintance ' and alien to the place, I yet felt curiously at home in Venice from the first. I believe it was because I had, after my own fashion, loved the beautiful that I here found the beautiful, where it is supreme,...
Page 191 - (Take me down ! Take me down !) They ran ahead, and fell asleep again in our path, and round every corner we came upon a sleeping boy ; and, indeed, we never got out of that atmosphere of slumber till we returned to the steamer for Venice, when Chioggia shook off her drowsy stupor, and began to tempt us to throw soldi into the water, to be dived for by her awakened children.
Page 92 - I was resolved in writing this book to tell what I had found most books of travel very slow to tell, — as much as possible of the everyday life of a people whose habits are so different from our own...
Page 27 - I could at first feel nothing but that beautiful silence, broken only by the star-silvered dip of the oars. Then on either hand I saw stately palaces rise gray and lofty from the dark waters, holding here and there a lamp against their faces, which brought balconies and columns and carven arches into momentary relief, and threw long streams of crimson into the canal. I could see by that uncertain glimmer how fair was all, but not how sad and old; and so...
Page 26 - There lies before you for your pleasure, the spectacle of such singular beauty as no picture can ever show you nor book tell you, — beauty which you shall feel perfectly but once, and regret forever.
Page 50 - ... but the creation of magic. The tender snow had compassionated the beautiful edifice for all the wrongs of time, and so hid the stains and ugliness of decay that it looked as if just from the hand of the builder — or, better said, just from the brain of the architect.
Page 11 - The Venice of modern fiction and drama is a thing of yesterday, a mere efflorescence of decay, a stage dream which the first ray of daylight must dissipate into dust. No prisoner, whose name is worth remembering, or whose sorrow deserved sympathy, ever crossed that
Page 304 - Olivolo, and the youth of the lagoons repaired thither to choose wives from the number of the maidens. These were all dressed in white, with hair loose about the neck, and each bore her dower in a little box, slung over her shoulder by a ribbon. It is to be supposed that there...
Page 51 - There was marvellous freshness in the colors of the mosaics in the great arches of the fasade, and all that gracious harmony into which the temple rises, of marble scrolls and leafy exuberance airily supporting the statues of the saints, was a hundred times etherealized by the purity and whiteness of the drifting flakes. The snow lay lightly on the golden globes that tremble like peacock-crests above the vast domes, and plumed them with softest white; it robed the saints in ermine; and it danced...

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