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Сторінка 358 - Therefore it is good to consider of deformity, not as a sign, which is more deceivable; but as a cause, which seldom faileth of the effect. Whosoever hath any thing fixed in his person that doth induce contempt, hath also a perpetual spur in himself to rescue and deliver himself from scorn.
Сторінка 221 - HAVE observed, that a reader seldom peruses a book with pleasure, till he knows whether the writer of it be a black or a fair man, of a mild or choleric disposition, married or a bachelor, with other particulars of the like nature, that conduce very much to the right understanding of an author.
Сторінка 362 - I have hitherto contented myself with the ridiculous part of him, which is enough, in all conscience, to employ one man ; even without the story of his late fall at the Old Devil, where he broke no ribs, because the hardness of the stairs could reach no bones ; and for my part, I do not wonder how he came to fall, for I have always known him heavy : the miracle is, how he got up again.
Сторінка 141 - Had spoil'd his fashionable airs: He now could praise, esteem, approve, But understood not what was love. His conduct might have made him styl'd A father, and the nymph his child.
Сторінка 362 - My legs and thighs first formed an obtuse angle, afterwards an equilateral angle, and at length, an acute one. My thighs and body form another; and my head, always dropping on my breast, makes me not ill represent a Z.
Сторінка 122 - Walpole could go no further than the admission that this book was "an attempt to blend the two kinds of romance, the ancient and the modern." "In the former, all was imagination and improbability: in the latter, nature is always intended to be, and sometimes has been, copied with success. Invention has not been wanting; but the great resources of fancy have been dammed up, by a strict adherence to common life.
Сторінка 200 - I've seen around me fall Like leaves in wintry weather, I feel like one Who treads alone Some banquet-hall deserted, Whose lights are fled, Whose garlands dead, And all but he departed!
Сторінка 340 - No more to sigh or shed the bitter tear, Together hymning their Creator's praise, In such society, yet still more dear; While circling time moves round in an eternal sphere. Compared with this, how poor religion's pride, In all the pomp of method, and of art, When men display to congregations wide Devotion's every grace, except the heart!
Сторінка 368 - I have brought him low and shrewdly broken him; which more to confirm, look on his head and you shall find a grey hair for every line I have writ against him; and you shall have all his beard white, too, by that time he hath read over this book.