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LibraryThing ReviewUser Review - sholt2001 - LibraryThing
After reading this book, I did some research and given its cultural impact, I'm surprised it's not better known. In addition to being the source of the Svengali character and the phrase "in the all ... Read full review
Alice Anatole des Arts Angliches Antony asked Bagot beautiful Ben Bolt bien Billee's blanchisseuse Bois de Boulogne c'est Carrel charm Chevagne Cockpen Dame daughter dear delight Dieu dine Dodor dream Durien English eyes face famous felt Fitzroy Square fond France French friends Gecko genial hand happy hear heard heart Hotel Jeannot kind kissed knew lady Laird Latin quarter laugh Little Billee live London looked Lorrimer Madame Svengali Madame Vinard Malbrouck marry Marta matemoiselle mironton Monsieur morning ness never night O'Ferrall once paint painters Paris pere Peter Ibbetson Place St play poor pretty quartier latin round sang seemed sight sing sitting smile song studio sweet sweet Alice Taffy Taffy's talk tears tell tender things thought told took Trilby Trilby O'Ferrall Trilby's turned Vibraye voice walked wife woman wonder Wynne young Zouzou
Page 249 - Plaisir d'amour ne dure qu'un moment; Chagrin d'amour dure toute la vie.
Page 284 - Tis but as ivy-leaves around the ruin'd turret wreath, All green and wildly fresh without, but worn and grey beneath. Oh, could I feel as I have felt, — or be what I have been, Or weep as I could once have wept, o'er many a vanish'd scene ; As springs in deserts found seem sweet, all brackish though they be, So, midst the wither'd waste of life, those tears would flow to me.
Page 378 - Don't you remember sweet Alice, Ben Bolt, — Sweet Alice whose hair was so brown, Who wept with delight when you gave her a smile, And trembled with fear at your frown?
Page 222 - And though the eye may sparkle still, 'tis where the ice appears. Though wit may flash from fluent lips, and mirth distract the breast, Through midnight hours that yield no more their former hope of rest ; 'Tis but as ivy-leaves around the ruin'd turret wreathe, All green and wildly fresh without, but worn and gray beneath.
Page 4 - Dust and ashes!" So you creak it, and I want the heart to scold. Dear dead women, with such hair, too — what's become of all the gold Used to hang and brush their bosoms ? I feel chilly and grown old.
Page 209 - A weary lot is thine, fair maid, A weary lot is thine ! To pull the thorn thy brow to braid, And press the rue for wine ! A lightsome eye, a soldier's mien, A feather of the blue, A doublet of the Lincoln green, — No more of me you knew, My love ! No more of me you knew. " This morn is merry June, I trow, The rose is budding fain ;* But she shall bloom in winter snow, Ere we two meet again.
Page 464 - A little work, a little play To keep us going — and so, good-day! A little warmth, a little light Of love's bestowing — and so, good-night! A little fun, to match the sorrow Of each day's growing — and so, good-morrow ! A little trust that when we die We reap our sowing! And so— good-bye!
Page 222 - The shore to which their shiver'd sail shall never stretch again. Then the mortal coldness of the soul like death itself comes down ; It cannot feel for others...
Page 23 - 'Oh, certainly, if you will be so kind.' "Miss O'Ferrall threw away the end of her cigarette, put her hands on her knees as she sat cross-legged on the model-throne, and sticking her elbows well out, she looked up to the ceiling with a tender, sentimental smile, and sang the touching song, " 'Oh, don't you remember sweet Alice, Ben Bolt? Sweet Alice, with hair so brown?