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Сторінка 118 - I think poetry should surprise by a fine excess, and not by singularity; it should strike the reader as a wording of his own highest thoughts, and appear almost a remembrance.
Сторінка 182 - He is retired as noontide dew Or fountain in a noon-day grove; And you must love him, ere to you He will seem worthy of your love.
Сторінка 122 - I scarcely remember counting upon any Happiness. I look not for it if it be not in the present hour. Nothing startles me beyond the Moment. The setting sun will always set me to rights, or if a Sparrow come before my Window, I take part in its existence and pick about the Gravel.
Сторінка 143 - We are what suns and winds and waters make us The mountains are our sponsors, and the rills Fashion and win their nursling with their smiles. But where the land is dim from tyranny, There tiny pleasures occupy the place Of glories and of duties ; as the feet Of fabled faeries when the sun goes down Trip o'er the grass where wrestlers strove by day. Then Justice...
Сторінка 122 - Sublime ; which is a thing per se, and stands alone), it is not itself — it has no self — It is everything and nothing — It has no character — it enjoys light and shade ; it lives in gusto, be it foul or fair, high or low, rich or poor, mean or elevated. — It has as much delight in conceiving an lago as an Imogen. What shocks the virtuous philosopher delights the chameleon poet.
Сторінка 118 - Its touches of beauty should never be half-way, thereby making the reader breathless, instead of content. The rise, the progress, the setting of imagery, should, like the sun, come natural to him, shine over him, and set soberly, although in magnificence, leaving him in the luxury of twilight.
Сторінка 125 - The Genius of Poetry must work out its own salvation in a man. It cannot be matured by law and precept, but by sensation and watchfulness in itself. That which is creative must create itself.
Сторінка 125 - Praise or blame has but a momentary effect on the man whose love of beauty in the abstract makes him a severe critic on his own works. My own domestic criticism has given me pain without comparison beyond what Blackwood...
Сторінка 183 - Without hands a man might have feet, and could still walk : but, consider it, — without morality, intellect were impossible for him ; a thoroughly immoral man could not know anything at all ! To know a thing, what we can call knowing, a man must first love the thing, sympathise with it : that is, be virtuously related to it.
Сторінка 184 - ... with it : that is, be virtuously related to it. If he have not the justice to put down his own .selfishness at every turn, the courage to stand by the dangerous-true at every turn, how shall he know ? His virtues, all of them, will lie recorded in his knowledge. Nature, with her truth, remains to the bad, to the selfish and the pusillanimous for ever a sealed book : what such can know of Nature is mean, superficial, small ; for the uses of the day merely.

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