Little Journeys to the Homes of English Authors

The Roycrofters, 1900 - 24 sider

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Side 13 - The Puritan hated bearbaiting, not because it gave pain to the bear, but because it gave pleasure to the spectators.
Side 50 - ... there is all nature cries aloud, Through all her works) he must delight in virtue; And that which he delights in must be happy. But when! or where — this world was made for Caesar.
Side 14 - Whoever wishes to attain an English style, familiar but not coarse, and elegant but not ostentatious, must give his days and nights to the volumes of Addison...
Side 50 - The stars shall fade away, the sun himself Grow dim with age, and Nature sink in years, But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth, Unhurt amidst the war of elements, The wreck of matter, and the crush of worlds.
Side 139 - D'Israeli has one of the most remarkable faces I ever saw. He is lividly pale, and, but for the energy of his action and the strength of his lungs, would seem to be a victim to consumption.
Side 109 - He who begins by loving Christianity better than Truth, will proceed by loving his own sect or Church better than Christianity, and end in loving himself better than all.
Side 139 - ... lying-in-wait sort of expression conceivable. His mouth is alive with a kind of working and impatient nervousness, and when he has burst forth, as he does constantly, with a particularly successful cataract of expression, it assumes a curl of triumphant scorn that would be worthy of a Mephistopheles.
Side 139 - I might as well attempt to gather up the foam of the sea as to convey an idea of the extraordinary language in which he clothed his description. There were at least five words in every sentence that must have been very much astonished at the use they were put to, and yet no others, apparently, could so well have conveyed his idea. He talked like a racehorse approaching the winning-post, every muscle in action...
Side 31 - Had turned away his face, wild Ignorance Let loose, and frantic Vengeance, and dark Zeal, And all bad passions tyrannous, and the fires Of Persecution once again ablaze. How had it sunk into thy soul to see, Last curse of all, the ruffian slaves of France In thy dear native country lording it ! How happier thus, in that heroic mood That takes away the sting of death...

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