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already answer appears beautiful become beginning better Book called century character clear comes consider continued dark death deep Diderot Earth English existence eyes fact fair father feeling figure followed force German gift give given Goethe hand head heart highest History hope human infinite interest Johnson kind King known least less lies light Literature living look man's manner matter meaning mind moral nature never nevertheless Nibelungen noble observed once original pass perhaps persons Philosophe Poet poetic Poetry poor practical present question reader remains rest round Schiller seems seen sense side sort soul speak spirit stand strange strength things thou thought true truth turn universal whole wise wonder worth write written young
Stran 290 - Having carried on my work thus far with so little obligation to any favourer of learning, I shall not be disappointed though I should conclude it, if less be possible, with less ; for I have been long wakened from that dream of hope, in which I once boasted myself with so much exultation. My Lord, your lordship's most humble, most obedient servant,
Stran 290 - Seven years, My Lord, have now passed since I waited in your outward rooms or was repulsed from your door, during which time I have been pushing on my work through difficulties of which it is useless to complain, and have brought it at last to the verge of publication without one act of assistance, one word of encouragement or one smile of favour. Such treatment I did not expect, for I never had a patron before.
Stran 242 - Even in the highest works of Art, our interest, as the critics complain, is too apt to be strongly or even mainly of a Biographic sort. In the Art we can nowise forget the Artist : while looking on the...
Stran 290 - I have been pushing on my work through difficulties of which it is useless to complain and have brought it at last to the verge of publication, without one act of assistance, one word of encouragement or one smile of favour. Such treatment I did not expect, for I never had a Patron before. " The shepherd in Virgil grew at last acquainted with Love and found him a native of the rocks.
Stran 249 - ... making a shift to get over hedges and ditches, after walking at least eight or nine miles, which were the more grievous to the king by the weight of his boots (for he could not put them off when he cut off his hair, for want of shoes), before morning they came to a poor cottage, the owner whereof, being a Roman Catholic, was known to Careless.
Stran 311 - Tears trickling down the granite rock : a soft well of Pity springs within ! Still more tragical is this other scene : ' Johnson mentioned that he could not in general accuse himself of having been an undutiful son. " Once indeed," said he, " I was disobedient : I refused to attend my father to Uttoxeter market. Pride was the source of that refusal, and the remembrance of it was painful. A few years ago I desired to atone for this fault.
Stran 310 - thoughts in the latter part of his life were fre'quently employed on his deceased friends; he ' often muttered these or such like sentences : ' " Poor man ! and then he died." ' How he patiently converts his poor home into a Lazaretto ; endures, for long years, the contradiction of the miserable and unreasonable ; with him unconnected, save that they had no other to yield them refuge ! Generous old man ! Worldly possession...
Stran 376 - Caesar of ancient Rome, over many countries, over many centuries : of all this he had the clearest understanding and constructive comprehension ; all this was his Learning and Insight ; what now is thine ? Insight into none of those things ; perhaps, strictly considered, into no thing whatever : solely into thy own sheepskin diplomas, fat academic...
Stran 302 - He then burst into such a fit of laughter, that he appeared to be almost in a convulsion ; and, in order to support himself, laid hold of one of the posts at the side of the foot pavement, and sent forth peals so loud, that in the silence of the night his voice seemed to resound from Temple-bar to Fleetditch.
Stran 4 - And were this world all Devils o'er, And watching to devour us, We lay it not to heart so sore, Not they can overpower us. And let the Prince of ill Look grim as e'er he will, He harms us not a whit: For why ? His doom is writ, A word shall quickly slay him.