All the Year RoundChapman and Hall, 1890 |
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answered asked beautiful Bella Bevan boat Breton called CHARLES DICKENS child church cider COCKPEN colour cottage course Crowland Crystal Palace dark dear Delornay dinner door Douglas Hay dream Dunleith Elva Exbury eyes face Father Cavell feel feet felt girl Grannie hand head heard heart Héloise Helpston Herrick Hoel hops hundred Janet Kestell knew Lady Honor Lady Joan lassie laughed letter light live London looked Lord married matter Mignonette miles mind Miss morning mother never Newcomen night Olive once passed perhaps poor pounds river round Saniter seemed side silence sister Southmoor Spence stood strange Street suddenly sure sweet tell thing Thomas Spence thought told took town turned voice walk Warsash Wellington Street wife wine woman wonder words young Zandt
Priljubljeni odlomki
Stran 360 - I behold like a Spanish great galleon and an English man-of-war. Master Coleridge, like the former, was built far higher in learning, solid, but slow in his performances. CVL, with the English man-of-war, lesser in bulk, but lighter in sailing, could turn with all tides, tack about, and take advantage of all winds, by the quickness of his wit and invention.
Stran 85 - A good sherris-sack hath a two-fold operation in it: it ascends me into the brain ; dries me there all the foolish, and dull, and cruddy vapours which environ it ; makes it apprehensive, quick, forgetive, full of nimble, fiery, and delectable shapes ; which, delivered o'er to the voice (the tongue), which is the birth, becomes excellent wit.
Stran 362 - ... most extraordinary manner, I could still discover a distant resemblance of my old friend. Sir Roger, upon seeing me laugh/ desired me to tell him truly if I thought it possible for people to know him in that disguise. I at first kept my usual silence; but upon the knight's conjuring me to tell him whether it was not still more like himself than a Saracen, I composed my countenance in the best manner I could, and replied, * that much might be said on both sides.
Stran 561 - I loved the best Are strange - nay, rather stranger than the rest. I long for scenes where man has never trod, A place where woman never smiled or wept; There to abide with my Creator, God, And sleep as I in childhood sweetly slept: Untroubling and untroubled where I lie, The grass below - above the vaulted sky.
Stran 363 - I dined (said he) very well for eight-pence, with very good company, at the Pine Apple in Newstreet, just by. Several of them had travelled. They expected to meet every day ; but did not know one another's names. It used to cost the rest a shilling, for they drank wine ; but I had a cut of meat for six-pence, and bread for a penny, and gave the waiter a penny ; so that I was quite well served, nay, better than the rest, for they gave the waiter nothing.
Stran 363 - Whoe'er has travell'd life's dull round, Where'er his stages may have been, May sigh to think he still has found The warmest: welcome at an inn.
Stran 532 - ... when Voltaire appeared at last roused from his reverie. His whole frame seemed animated. He began his defence with the utmost elegance mixed with spirit, and now and then let fall the finest strokes of raillery upon his antagonist; and his harangue lasted till three in the morning. I must confess, that, whether from national partiality, or from the elegant sensibility of his manner, I never was so much charmed, nor did I ever remember so absolute a victory as he gained in this dispute.
Stran 259 - Entreat me not to leave thee, or to return from following after thee; for whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge. Thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God. Where thou diest, will I die, and there will I be buried. The Lord do so to me, and more also, if aught but death part thee and me.
Stran 359 - Sir, I have now in my cellar ten tun of the best ale in Staffordshire ; 'tis smooth as oil, sweet as milk, clear as amber, and strong as brandy ; and will be just fourteen year old the fifth day of next March, old style.
Stran 560 - I AM: yet what I am none cares or knows, My friends forsake me like a memory lost ; I am the self-consumer of my woes...