British Novelists and Their Styles: Being a Critical Sketch of the History of British Prose Fiction

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Gould and Lincoln, 1859 - 312 стор.
 

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Сторінка 29 - In form and moving how express and admirable ! In action how like an angel! In apprehension how like a god! The beauty of the world! The paragon of animals! And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust? Man delights not me, — no, nor woman neither, though by your smiling you seem to say so.
Сторінка 29 - I have of late — but wherefore I know not — lost all my mirth, forgone all custom of exercises ; and indeed it goes so heavily with my disposition that this goodly frame, the earth, seems to me a sterile promontory...
Сторінка 157 - It 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 71 - There were hills which garnished their proud heights with stately trees : humble valleys whose base estate seemed comforted with the refreshing of silver rivers ; meadows enamelled with all sorts of eye-pleasing flowers ; thickets, which being lined with most pleasant shade were witnessed so to, by the cheerful disposition of many well-tuned birds ; each pasture stored with sheep feeding with sober security, while the pretty lambs with bleating oratory craved...
Сторінка 156 - YE who listen with credulity to the whispers of fancy, and pursue with eagerness the phantoms of hope; who expect that age will perform the promises of youth, and that the deficiencies of the present day will be supplied by the morrow ; attend to the history of Rasselas, Prince of Abyssinia.
Сторінка 81 - AUTHOR'S APOLOGY FOR HIS BOOK WHEN at the first I took my pen in hand Thus for to write, I did not understand That I at all should make a little book In such a mode ; nay, I had undertook To make another ; which, when almost done, Before I was aware I this begun.
Сторінка 176 - And wi' the lave ilk merry morn Could rank my rig and lass, Still shearing, and clearing The tither stocked raw, Wi' claivers, an' haivers, Wearing the day awa : Ev'n then a wish, (I mind its power,) A wish that to my latest hour Shall strongly heave my breast ; That I for poor auld Scotland's sake, Some usefu' plan, or beuk could make, Or sing a sang at least.

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