The Works of Laurence Sterne ...: With a Life of the Author, Written by Himself ...J. Turnbull, 1803 |
Загальні терміни та фрази
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Популярні уривки
Сторінка 35 - I pity the man who can travel from Dan. to Beersheba, and cry, 'Tis all barren and so it is; and so is all the world to him, who will not cultivate the fruits it offers.
Сторінка 92 - Upon looking nearer, I saw him pale and. feverish; in thirty years the western breeze had not once fanned his blood — he had seen no sun, no moon, in all that time, nor had the voice of friend or kinsman breathed through his lattice — his children — — But here my heart began to bleed — and I was forced to go on with another part of the portrait.
Сторінка 93 - As I darkened the little light he had, he lifted up a hopeless eye towards the door, then cast it down, shook his head, and went on with his work of affliction.
Сторінка 144 - I felt such undescribable emotions within me, as I am sure could not be accounted for from any combinations of matter and motion.
Сторінка 147 - ... mere pomp of words! but that I feel some generous joys and generous cares beyond myself all comes from thee, great great SENSORIUM of the world! which vibrates, if a hair of our heads but falls upon the ground, in the remotest desert of thy creation...
Сторінка 150 - His wife sung now and then a little to the tune, then intermitted, and joined her old man again as their children and grandchildren danced before them.
Сторінка 50 - The mourner said, he did not want it it was not the value of the ass but the loss of him...
Сторінка 49 - AND this, said he, putting the remains of a crust into his wallet, and this should have been thy portion, said he, hadst thou been alive to have shared it with me.
Сторінка 145 - Shorn indeed ! and to the quick," said I ; " and wast thou in my own land, where I have a cottage, I would take thee to it and shelter thee ; thou shouldst eat of my own bread, and drink of my own cup.
Сторінка 36 - Turin, in his return home; and a sad tale of sorrowful adventures he had to tell, "wherein he spoke of moving accidents by flood and field, and of the cannibals which each other eat: the Anthropophagi" he had been flay'd alive, and bedevil'd, and used worse than St. Bartholomew, at every stage he had come at I'll tell it, cried Smelfungus, to the world. You had better tell it, said I, to your physician.