PrismaticsD. Appleton, 1854 - 235ÆäÀÌÁö |
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16 ÆäÀÌÁö
... face startled him at his doorway . At times , a lovely Sometimes music , ¡° both of instrument and singing , " floated up the broad staircase . Sometimes he found a chance handful of flow- ers resting upon his palette . A golden - haired ...
... face startled him at his doorway . At times , a lovely Sometimes music , ¡° both of instrument and singing , " floated up the broad staircase . Sometimes he found a chance handful of flow- ers resting upon his palette . A golden - haired ...
18 ÆäÀÌÁö
... face was turned , with a smile , towards its mother , from whose arms it had evidently just escaped . That playful look was a challenge for her to advance , and she , poor mother , with that deep , dumb despair in her face , saw the ...
... face was turned , with a smile , towards its mother , from whose arms it had evidently just escaped . That playful look was a challenge for her to advance , and she , poor mother , with that deep , dumb despair in her face , saw the ...
26 ÆäÀÌÁö
... face of all . Nor do Rowley and I forget how grand and formal she was with strangers , and how she never unbent herself be- fore Margaret , her handmaid , who had lived with her for thirty years and upward , and how Margaret loved her ...
... face of all . Nor do Rowley and I forget how grand and formal she was with strangers , and how she never unbent herself be- fore Margaret , her handmaid , who had lived with her for thirty years and upward , and how Margaret loved her ...
28 ÆäÀÌÁö
... face possessed of such beauty as children remember like a dream , and perhaps never find again in life ; her name was no more mentioned by Aunt Miranda , nor did Rowley or I know any thing except that it was a mystery , not to be ...
... face possessed of such beauty as children remember like a dream , and perhaps never find again in life ; her name was no more mentioned by Aunt Miranda , nor did Rowley or I know any thing except that it was a mystery , not to be ...
30 ÆäÀÌÁö
... face was so close I could feel her hot breath upon my cheek and then stretching forth her fingers as if to clutch me , her voice came forth in a fierce , passionate sob , and she fell forward , and rolled over at my feet . It was the ...
... face was so close I could feel her hot breath upon my cheek and then stretching forth her fingers as if to clutch me , her voice came forth in a fierce , passionate sob , and she fell forward , and rolled over at my feet . It was the ...
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Aaron Burr admirable Allan Ramsay alliterations amid ancient arms Aunt Miranda Babylon beautiful behold believe Bell Ben Jonson beneath bivalve blue-fish blush bosom Branca Doria Bullwinkle called Charles Lamb child companion cousin dimple DIVIDEND door essay eyes face fair fancy Fanny Hazleton feeling fire gentle gentleman grace happy hath heard heart heaven Hudibras humorist Island JOSEPH GRANVILLE lay-figure Leigh Hunt light lips LITTLE BRITAIN live look love old books ludicrous Margaret Massapequas mind mirth moonlight morning mother never night o'er old lady once oyster pale peaceful poet poor reader rest rolled rose Rowley satire Sawney says scarcely Scotchman Shakspeare side smile snow soul sound street Sunkwam sweet thee thing thou art thought tion took touch trochee turned verse village voice white hand wit and humor witty woman words Yankees young
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204 ÆäÀÌÁö - For wit lying most in the assemblage of ideas, and putting those together with quickness and variety, wherein can be found any resemblance or congruity, thereby to make up pleasant pictures, and agreeable visions in the fancy ; judgment, on the contrary, lies quite on the other side, in separating carefully one from another, ideas wherein can be found the least difference, thereby to avoid being misled by similitude, and by affinity to take one thing for another.
216 ÆäÀÌÁö - But now his nose is thin, And it rests upon his chin Like a staff, And a crook is in his back, And a melancholy crack In his laugh. I know it is a sin For me to sit and grin At him here; But the old three-cornered hat, And the breeches, and all that, Are so queer!
172 ÆäÀÌÁö - The quality of mercy is not strained, It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven Upon the place beneath. It is twice blest: It blesseth him that gives and him that takes.
214 ÆäÀÌÁö - I SAW him once before^ As he passed by the door, And again The pavement stones resound, As he totters o'er the ground With his cane. They say that in his prime, Ere the pruning-knife of Time Cut him down, Not a better man was found By the Crier on his round Through the town. But now he walks the streets, And he looks at all he meets Sad and wan, And he shakes his feeble head, That it seems as if he said, "They are gone.
216 ÆäÀÌÁö - And if I should live to be The last leaf upon the tree In the spring, Let them smile, as I do now, At the old forsaken bough Where I cling.
76 ÆäÀÌÁö - I how great she be ? Great, or good, or kind, or fair, I will ne'er the more despair: If she love me, this believe, I will die ere she shall grieve : If she slight me when I woo, I can scorn and let her go ; For if she be not for me, What care I for whom she be ? George Wither.
75 ÆäÀÌÁö - SHALL I, wasting in despair, Die because a woman's fair? Or make pale my cheeks with care 'Cause another's rosy are? Be she fairer than the day, Or the flowery meads in May, If she think not well of me, What care I how fair she be?
223 ÆäÀÌÁö - Go," says he, one day at dinner, to an over-grown one, which had buzzed about his nose, and tormented him cruelly all dinner-time, and which, after infinite attempts, he had caught at last as it flew by him. " I'll not hurt thee," says my Uncle Toby, rising from his chair, and going across the room with the fly in his hand. " I'll not hurt a hair of thy head. Go," says he, liftin<* up the sash, and opening his hand as he spoke to let it escape.
209 ÆäÀÌÁö - Be lion-mettled, proud and take no care Who chafes, who frets, or where conspirers are: Macbeth shall never vanquish'd be until Great Birnam wood to high Dunsinane hill Shall come against him.
204 ÆäÀÌÁö - This is, I think, the best and most philosophical account that I have ever met with of wit, which generally, though not always, consists in such a resemblance and congruity of ideas as this author mentions. I shall only add to it, by way of explanation, that every resemblance of ideas is not that which we call wit, unless it be such an one...