Mr. Froude and Carlyle

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W. Heinemann, 1898 - 360 strani

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Stran 286 - He has his own positive opinion on all matters ; not an unwise one, usually, for his own ends ; and will ask no advice of yours. He has no work to do — no tyrannical instinct to obey. The earthworm has his digging; the bee her gathering and building ; the spider her cunning net-work ; the ant her treasury and accounts. All these are comparatively slaves, or people of vulgar business.
Stran 273 - No, no, no life! Why should a dog, a horse, a rat, have life, And thou no breath at all? Thou'lt come no more, Never, never, never, never, never!
Stran 265 - Madam, I beg your pardon for the abruptness of my departure from your house this morning, but I was constrained to it by my conscience. Fifty years ago, Madam, on this day, I committed a breach of filial piety, which has ever since lain heavy on my mind, and has not till this day been expiated.
Stran 303 - Nor my thread wish to spin o'er again: But my face in the glass I'll serenely survey, And with smiles count each wrinkle and furrow; As this old worn-out stuff, which is threadbare to-day May become everlasting to-morrow.
Stran 345 - Had we never loved sae kindly, Had we never loved sae blindly, Never met, or never parted, We had ne'er been broken-hearted.
Stran 149 - For forty years she was the true and everloving helpmate of her husband; and, by act and word, unweariedly forwarded him, as none else could, in all of worthy that he did or attempted. She died at London, 21st April, 1866; suddenly snatched away from him, and the light of his life as if gone out.
Stran 197 - Her little bit of a first chair, its wee wee arms etc., visible to me in the closet at this moment, is still here, and always was. I have looked at it hundreds of times ; from of old, with many thoughts. No daughter or son of hers was to sit there ; so it had been appointed us, my darling. I have no book a thousandth-part so beautiful as thou ; but these were our only
Stran 17 - And now what is it, if you pierce through his Cants, his oft-repeated Hearsays, what he calls his Worships and so forth — what is it that the modern English soul does, in very truth, dread infinitely, and contemplate with entire despair ? What is his Hell ; after all these reputable, oft-repeated Hearsays, what is it ? With hesitation, with astonishment, I pronounce it to be The terror of
Stran 48 - The church at this moment is much to be pitied. She has nothing left but possession. If a bishop meets an intelligent gentleman and reads fatal interrogations in his eyes, he has no resource but to take wine with him.
Stran 137 - Ay, in the catalogue ye go for men ; As hounds and greyhounds, mongrels, spaniels, curs, Shoughs, water-rugs and demi-wolves, are clept All by the name of dogs...

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