Histoire de la littérature anglaise, Volume 2

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L. Hachette et cie, 1863 - 2409 pages
 

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Page 376 - 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.
Page 97 - Such an act That blurs the grace and blush of modesty, Calls virtue hypocrite, takes off the rose From the fair forehead of an innocent love And sets a blister there, makes marriage vows As false as dicers
Page 391 - To hear the lark begin his flight, And singing startle the dull night, From his watch-tower in the skies, Till the dappled dawn doth rise...
Page 389 - ... to inbreed and cherish in a great people the seeds of virtue and public civility, to allay the perturbations of the mind, and set the affections in right tune; to celebrate in glorious and lofty hymns the throne and equipage of God's almightiness, and what he works, and what he suffers to be wrought with high providence in his church...
Page 397 - And in sweet madness robb'd it of itself; But such a sacred and home-felt delight, Such sober certainty of waking bliss, I never heard till now.
Page 425 - Here we may reign secure, and, in my choice, To reign is worth ambition, though in hell: Better to reign in hell, than serve in heaven.
Page 131 - Tut, tut ! good enough to toss'; food for powder, food for powder ; they'll fill a pit, as well as better : tush, man, mortal men, mortal men.
Page 400 - All amidst the gardens fair Of Hesperus, and his daughters three That sing about the golden tree. Along the crisped shades and bowers Revels the spruce and jocund Spring; The Graces and the rosy-bosomed Hours Thither all their bounties bring.
Page 165 - I have of lateó but wherefore I know notó lost all my mirth, forgone all custom of exercises; and indeed it goes so heavily with my disposition that this goodly frame, the earth, seems to me a sterile promontory; this most excellent canopy, the air, look you, this brave o'erhanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted with golden fire, why, it appears no other thing to me than a foul and pestilent congregation of vapours.
Page 425 - Is this the region, this the soil, the clime," Said then the lost arch-angel, "this the seat That we must change for heav'n ? this mournful gloom For that celestial light?

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