De Quincey's Writings: Letters to a young man and other papers. 1854

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Ticknor, Reed, and Fields, 1854
 

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Стр. 149 - ... company, and standing aloof as a sort of monster hired to play tricks of. funambulism for the night. Yet again, if he contents himself with a musket like other people, then for us, from whom he modestly hides his talent under a bushel, in what respect is he different from the man who has no such talent ? " If she be not fair to me, What care I how fair she be...
Стр. 263 - Her haughty schools Shall blush ; and may not we with sorrow say — A few strong instincts, and a few plain rules, Among the herdsmen of the Alps have wrought More for mankind at this unhappy day, Than all the pride of intellect and thought.
Стр. 14 - Nay, the social silence or undisturbing voices of a wife or sister will be like a restorative atmosphere, or soft music which moulds a dream without becoming its object.
Стр. 142 - Bitter is the upbraiding which we seem to hear from a secret monitor, — "My friend, you make very free with your days ; pray, how many do you expect to have ? What is your rental, as regards the total harvest of days which this life is likely to yield ?
Стр. 89 - Jacobs imputes to him not merely too lively a sensitiveness to censure, but absolutely a " wasserscheue " (hydrophobia) with regard to reviewers and critics. How Mr. Jacobs came to use so strong an expression, or this particular expression, I cannot guess ; unless it were that he had happened to see (which, however, does not appear) in a work of this eloquent Englishman the following picturesque sentence : " By an unconscionable extension of the old adage, ' Noscitur a sotio, ' my friends are never...
Стр. 93 - For which distinction, as for most of the sound criticism on poetry, or any subject connected with it that I have ever met with, I must acknowledge my obligations to many years
Стр. 142 - A constant hemorrhage of the same kind is wasting our jewelly hours. A day has perished from our brief calendar of days, and that we could endure; but this day is no more than the reiteration of many other days, days counted by thousands, that have perished to the same extent and by the same unhappy means...
Стр. 250 - Nilotic isle, and more to west, The realm of Bocchus to the Black-moor sea ; From the Asian kings, and Parthian among these, From India and the golden Chersonese, . And utmost Indian isle, Taprobane, Dusk faces with white silken turbans wreathed, From Gallia, Gades, and the British west, Germans and Scythians, and Sarmatians north Beyond Danubius to the Tauric pool.

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