Familiar Quotations: Being an Attempt to Trace to Their Source Passages and Phrases In Common Use: Chiefly from English AuthorsJohn Bartlett Little, Brown and Company, 1865 - 480ÆäÀÌÁö |
µµ¼ º»¹®¿¡¼
40°³ÀÇ °á°ú Áß 1 - 5°³
v ÆäÀÌÁö
... happy turns from orators and poets , have knocked at the door , and it was hard to deny them . But to admit these simply on their own merits , without assurance that the general reader would readily recognize them as old friends , was ...
... happy turns from orators and poets , have knocked at the door , and it was hard to deny them . But to admit these simply on their own merits , without assurance that the general reader would readily recognize them as old friends , was ...
36 ÆäÀÌÁö
... happy , if I could say how much . Act ii . Sc . 1 . 2 , with an additional stanza . There has been much contro- versy about the authorship , but the more probable opinion seems to be that the second stanza was added by Fletcher . Sigh ...
... happy , if I could say how much . Act ii . Sc . 1 . 2 , with an additional stanza . There has been much contro- versy about the authorship , but the more probable opinion seems to be that the second stanza was added by Fletcher . Sigh ...
39 ÆäÀÌÁö
... happy is the rose distilled , Than that which , withering on the virgin thorn , Grows , lives , and dies , in single blessedness . For aught that ever I could read , Could ever hear by tale or history , Act i . Sc . 1 . The course of ...
... happy is the rose distilled , Than that which , withering on the virgin thorn , Grows , lives , and dies , in single blessedness . For aught that ever I could read , Could ever hear by tale or history , Act i . Sc . 1 . The course of ...
60 ÆäÀÌÁö
... happy havens . Oh , who can hold a fire in his hand , By thinking on the frosty Caucasus ? Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite , Act i . Sc . 3 . By bare imagination of a feast ? Act i . Sc . 3 . The apprehension of the good Gives but ...
... happy havens . Oh , who can hold a fire in his hand , By thinking on the frosty Caucasus ? Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite , Act i . Sc . 3 . By bare imagination of a feast ? Act i . Sc . 3 . The apprehension of the good Gives but ...
72 ÆäÀÌÁö
... happy days . Act i . Sc . 4 . So wise , so young , they say , do ne'er live long . Act iii . Sc . 1 . Thou troublest me ; I am not in the vein . Act iv . Sc . 2 . Their lips were four red roses on a stalk . Act iv . Sc . 3 . Let not the ...
... happy days . Act i . Sc . 4 . So wise , so young , they say , do ne'er live long . Act iii . Sc . 1 . Thou troublest me ; I am not in the vein . Act iv . Sc . 2 . Their lips were four red roses on a stalk . Act iv . Sc . 3 . Let not the ...
±âŸ ÃâÆǺ» - ¸ðµÎ º¸±â
ÀÚÁÖ ³ª¿À´Â ´Ü¾î ¹× ±¸¹®
Anatomy of Melancholy angels bearbaiting beauty BEILBY PORTEUS BEN JONSON better blessed Book breath C©¡sar Canto Canto iii dead dear death devil divine doth dream DRYDEN Dunciad earth Eccles Epistle Epistle ii Epitaph eyes fair Farewell fear fools give glory grave hand happy hath heart heaven Honest Man's Fortune honor hope Hudibras Ibid JOHN Julius C©¡sar king Lady light Line Line 60 live look Lord man's Matt mind moon morning Nature ne'er never Night numbers o'er pleasure PLUTARCH POPE praise Prov Satire Satire vii Shakspeare shining sigh sleep smile soft Song Sonnet sorrow soul spirit Stanza stars sweet tale tears thee There's thine things THOMAS THOMAS À KEMPIS thou hast thought tongue truth unto viii virtue voice wind wise woman words
Àαâ Àο뱸
105 ÆäÀÌÁö - But that I am forbid To tell the secrets of my prison-house, I could a tale unfold whose lightest word Would harrow up thy soul, freeze thy young blood, Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres, Thy knotted and combined locks to part, And each particular hair to stand on end, Like quills upon the fretful porpentine : But this eternal blazon must not be To ears of flesh and blood.
243 ÆäÀÌÁö - THE EPITAPH Here rests his head upon the lap of earth A youth to fortune and to fame unknown: Fair science frowned not on his humble birth, And melancholy marked him for her own. Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere, . Heaven did a recompense as largely send: He gave to misery all he had, a tear: He gained from heaven ('twas all he wished) a friend.
352 ÆäÀÌÁö - And thinking of the days that are no more. Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail, That brings our friends up from the underworld, Sad as the last which reddens over one That sinks with all we love below the verge; So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more.
147 ÆäÀÌÁö - Satan except, none higher sat, with grave Aspect he rose, and in his rising seemed A pillar of state : deep on his front engraven Deliberation sat and public care ; And princely counsel in his face yet shone, Majestic though in ruin : sage he stood, With Atlantean shoulders fit to bear The weight of mightiest monarchies ; his look Drew audience and attention still as night Or summer's noontide air...
249 ÆäÀÌÁö - For, e'en though vanquished, he could argue still, While words of learned length and thundering sound Amazed the gazing rustics ranged around; And still they gazed, and still the wonder grew That one small head could carry all he knew.
96 ÆäÀÌÁö - The times have been That, when the brains were out, the man would die, And there an end ; but now they rise again, With twenty mortal murders on their crowns, And push us from our stools.
101 ÆäÀÌÁö - gainst that season comes Wherein our saviour's birth is celebrated, This bird of dawning singeth all night long : And then, they say, no spirit dares stir abroad ; The nights are wholesome ; then no planets strike, No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm, So hallow'd and so gracious is the time.
78 ÆäÀÌÁö - Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world, Like a Colossus ; and we petty men Walk under his huge legs, and peep about To find ourselves dishonorable graves.
287 ÆäÀÌÁö - In darkness and amid the many shapes Of joyless daylight; when the fretful stir Unprofitable, and the fever of the world, Have hung upon the beatings of my heart— How oft, in spirit, have I turned to thee, O sylvan Wye! thou wanderer thro' the woods, How often has my spirit turned to thee!
373 ÆäÀÌÁö - And yet, on the other hand, unless wariness be used, as good almost kill a man as kill a good book. Who kills a man kills a reasonable creature, God's image ; but he who destroys a good book, kills reason itself, kills the image of God, as it were in the eye.