The Works of William Makepeace Thackeray, Količina 19C. Scribner's sons, 1904 |
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The Works of William Makepeace Thackeray, Količina 19 William Makepeace Thackeray Celotni ogled - 1904 |
The Works of William Makepeace Thackeray, Količina 19 William Makepeace Thackeray Celotni ogled - 1879 |
The works of William Makepeace Thackeray, Količina 19 William Makepeace Thackeray Celotni ogled - 1869 |
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Abednego Algernon aunt aunt's Barnet bless Blewitt Bullwig captain carriage chaps city of London clerk Crabs cried daughter Dawkins dear dear Mary Deuceace DIAMOND diamond-pin dine dinner door father fellow Fulham fust gave genlmn gentleman gents give Gus Hoskins hand happy haunch of venison heard heaven Hoggarty Hoggarty's honour John Brough knew Lady Crabs Lady Drum Lady Fanny Lady Griffin Lady Jane ladyship Lamb's Conduit Street laughing letter London looked ma'am madam married Mary Mary Smith master Matilda Miss Brough Miss Griffin morning mother never night old lady paid poar Polonius poor Preston pretty Robert Gates Rosolio Roundhand says my lord shares shilling Shum Slopperton Smithers sure Swinney talk tell thing thought thousand pounds Tidd Tiptoff Titmarsh told took Vandome venison walked Wapshot West Diddlesex wife woman Yellowplush
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Stran 325 - Yellowplush," says he, seizing my hand, " you are right. Quit not your present occupation ; black boots, clean knives, wear plush all your life, but don't turn literary man. Look at me. I am the first novelist in Europe. I have ranged with eagle wing over the wide regions of literature, and perched on every eminence in its turn. I have gazed with eagle eyes on the sun of philosophy, and fathomed the mysterious depths of the human mind. All languages are familiar to me, all thoughts are known to me,...
Stran 354 - You wrote it for money, — money from the maniger, money from the bookseller, — for the same reason that I write this. Sir Shakspeare wrote for the very same reasons, and I never heard that he bragged about serving the drama. Away with this canting about great motifs! Let us not be too prowd, my dear Barnet, and fansy ourselves marters of the truth, marters or apostels. We are but tradesmen, working for bread, and not for righteousness