What people are saying - Write a review
We haven't found any reviews in the usual places.
Other editions - View all
asked August August 17 Barbellion beautiful better bird caught cigarette cold dark dead dear death December December 15 December 26 delightful dinner dissect door eyes face fear feel felt Fifth Symphony fire garden gave gaze girl give hand happy hate head hear heard heart Housefly Journal June Kensington Gardens kiss laughed legs listening live London looked March Marie Bashkirtseff married mind morning Mother Museum nerve never night November November 29 October October 23 once passion person playing poor pretty remarkable replied Samuel Butler seemed self-compassion September September 28 Sir Henry Wood smile street Symphony talk tell things thought thro to-day to-night tree turned voice W. N. P. Barbellion walked watching window woman wonder wood write young youth Zoology
Page ii - I returned, and saw under the sun, that the race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, neither yet bread to the wise, nor yet riches to men of understanding, nor yet favour to men of skill ; but time and chance happeneth to them all.
Page 263 - My lot might have been that of a slave, a savage, or a peasant; nor can I reflect without pleasure on the bounty of Nature, which cast my birth in a free and civilized country , in an age of science and philosophy, in a family of honourable rank, and decently endowed with the gifts of fortune.
Page 268 - He words me, girls, he words me, that I should not Be noble to myself; but hark thee, Charmian. [Whispers CHARMIAN. Iras. Finish, good lady ; the bright day is done, And we are for the dark.
Page 308 - A BROKEN APPOINTMENT YOU did not come, And marching Time drew on, and wore me numb. — Yet less for loss of your dear presence there Than that I thus found lacking in your make That high compassion which can overbear Reluctance for pure lovingkindness...
Page 61 - ... loud and light, Very sound of very light Heard from morning's rosiest height, When the soul of all delight Fills a child's clear laughter. Golden bells of welcome rolled Never forth such notes, nor told Hours so blithe in tones so bold, As the radiant mouth of gold Here that rings forth heaven. If the golden-crested wren Were a nightingale — why, then, Something seen and heard of men Might be half as sweet as when Laughs a child of seven.
Page 260 - 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 74 - I were not living in mighty London. The truth is I live in a bigger, dirtier city — ill-health. Ill-health, when chronic, is like a permanent ligature around one's life. What a fine fellow I'd be if I were perfectly well. My energy for one thing would lift the roof off. ... We conversed around the text : " To travel hopefully is better than to arrive and true success is to labour.
Page 262 - I am at a loss how to describe the success of the work, without betraying the vanity of the writer. The first impression was exhausted in a few days; a second and third edition were scarcely adequate to the demand; and the bookseller's property was twice invaded by the pirates of Dublin. My book was on every table, and almost on every toilette...
Page 245 - My sympathy with myself is so unfailing that I don't deserve anybody else's. In many respects, however, this Journal I believe gives the impression that I behave myself in the public gaze much worse than I actually do. You must remember that herein I let myself go at a stretch gallop : in life I rein in, I am almost another person.