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answered appeared artist asked beautiful beneath better breath brought character church close Count creature dark dead dear delightful Donatello doubt dream earth expression eyes face fancy Faun feel felt figure follow gazed girl give half hand happy head heart Hilda hope human idea imagination Italian Italy keep Kenyon kind least leave less light living look marble meet mind Miriam Monte moral natural never observed once palace passed past perhaps person picture poor replied rich Roman Rome round scene sculptor seemed seen shadow shrine side smile soul speak spirit standing statue steps stone story strange streets sunshine sure sweet sympathy tell things thought touch tower true truth turned voice walls whole wild woman young
Сторінка 519 - Sin has educated Donatello, and elevated him. Is sin, then, - which we deem such a dreadful blackness in the universe, - is it, like sorrow, merely an element of human education, through which we struggle to a higher and purer state than we could otherwise have attained? Did Adam fall, that we might ultimately rise to a far loftier paradise than his?
Сторінка 276 - ... arrival at a colder and drearier region than we were born in. It insists upon everybody's adding somewhat — a mite, perhaps, but earned by incessant effort — to an accumulated pile of usefulness, of which the only use will be, to burden our posterity with even heavier thoughts and more inordinate labor than our own. No life now wanders like an unfettered stream ; there is a mill-wheel for the tiniest rivulet to turn. We go all wrong, by too strenuous a resolution to go all right.
Сторінка 138 - but, as with dreamers when they shout, her voice would perish inaudibly in the remoteness that seemed such a little way. This perception of an infinite, shivering solitude, amid which we cannot come close enough to human beings to be warmed by them, and where they turn to cold, chilly shapes of mist, is one of the most forlorn results of any accident, misfortune, crime, or peculiarity of character, that puts an individual ajar with the world.
Сторінка 207 - They flung the past behind them, as she counselled, or else distilled from it a fiery intoxication, which sufficed to carry them triumphantly through those first moments of their doom. For guilt has its moment of rapture too. The foremost result of a broken law is ever an ecstatic sense of freedom. And thus there exhaled upward (out of their dark sympathy, at the base of which lay a human corpse) a bliss, or an insanity, which the unhappy pair imagined to be well worth the sleepy innocence that was...
Сторінка 149 - Not a nude figure, I hope!" observed Miriam. "Every young sculptor seems to think that he must give the world some specimen of indecorous womanhood, and call it Eve, Venus, a Nymph, or any name that may apologize for a lack of decent clothing. I am weary, even more than I am ashamed, of seeing such things. Now-a-days, people are as good as born in their clothes, and there is practically not a nude human being in existence. An artist, therefore,— as you must candidly confess,— cannot sculpture...
Сторінка 9 - But I find this Italian atmosphere not favorable to the close toil of composition, although it is a very good air to dream in. I must breathe the fogs of old England or the east winds of Massachusetts, in order to put me into working trim.
Сторінка 189 - Roman triumph, that most gorgeous pageant of earthly pride, had streamed and flaunted in hundred-fold succession over these same flagstones, and through this yet stalwart archway. It is politic, however, to make few allusions to such a past ; nor, if we would create an interest in the characters of our story, is it wise to suggest how Cicero's foot may have stepped on yonder stone, or how Horace was wont to stroll near by, making his footsteps chime with the measure of the ode that was ringing in...
Сторінка 373 - ... fireside by day, and feasting with our own substance the ravenous little populace of a Roman bed at night— left her, sick at heart of Italian trickery, which has uprooted whatever faith in man's integrity had endured till now, and sick at stomach of sour bread, sour wine, rancid butter, and bad cookery, needlessly bestowed on evil meats — left her, disgusted with the pretence of holiness and the reality of nastiness, each equally omnipresent...
Сторінка 15 - No author, without a trial, can conceive of the difficulty of writing a romance about a country where there is no shadow, no antiquity, no mystery, no picturesque and gloomy wrong, nor anything but a commonplace prosperity, in broad and simple daylight, as is happily the case with my dear native land.