The Autocrat of the Breakfast-table

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Phillips, Sampson, 1858 - Всего страниц: 373
 

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Пользовательский отзыв  - EricCostello - LibraryThing

I was enormously disappointed in this book. If the narrator is indeed an autocrat, I'm all for revolution and bringing up the guillotine. Turgid and leaden in its delivery, not particularly funny, nor particularly wise. In short, the autocrat is a windy bore. Not recommended. Читать весь отзыв

LibraryThing Review

Пользовательский отзыв  - madepercy - LibraryThing

This little book took me some time to read. At first, I thought I might write down some of the quotes from it, but soon I realised that each page had a memorable quote and I decided to leave the ... Читать весь отзыв

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Стр. 110 - This is the ship of pearl, which, poets feign, Sails the unshadowed main, — The venturous bark that flings On the sweet summer wind its purpled wings In gulfs enchanted, where the siren sings, And coral reefs lie bare, Where the cold sea-maids rise to sun their streaming hair. Its webs of living gauze no more unfurl; Wrecked is the ship of pearl!
Стр. 110 - Year after year beheld the silent toil That spread his lustrous coil; Still, as the spiral grew, He left the past year's dwelling for the new, Stole with soft step its shining archway through, Built up its idle door, Stretched in his last-found home, and knew the old no more.
Стр. 296 - Last of its timber, — they couldn't sell 'em, Never an axe had seen their chips, And the wedges flew from between their lips, Their blunt ends frizzled like celery-tips; Step and prop-iron, bolt and screw, Spring, tire, axle, and linchpin too, Steel of the finest, bright and blue; Thoroughbrace bison-skin, thick and wide; Boot, top, dasher, from tough old hide Found in the pit when the tanner died. That was the way he 'put her through.
Стр. 298 - The parson was working his Sunday's text,— Had got to fifthly, and stopped perplexed At what the— Moses— was coming next. All at once the horse stood still, Close by the meet'n'-house on the hill.
Стр. 111 - Thanks for the heavenly message brought by thee, Child of the wandering sea, Cast from her lap, forlorn ! From thy dead lips a clearer note is born Than ever Triton blew from wreathed horn ! While on mine ear it rings, Through the deep caves of thought I hear a voice that sings — Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul, As the swift seasons roll ! Leave thy low-vaulted past!
Стр. 313 - My choice would be vanilla-ice. I care not much for gold or land; — Give me a mortgage here and there, — Some good bank-stock, some note of hand, Or trifling railroad share, — I only ask that Fortune send A little more than I shall spend.
Стр. 358 - If it please the king, and if I have found favor in his sight, and the thing seem right before the king, and I be pleasing in his eyes, let it be written to reverse the letters devised by Haman the...
Стр. 295 - Have you heard of the wonderful one-hoss shay, That was built in such a logical way It ran a hundred years to a day, And then, of a sudden, it — ah, but stay...
Стр. 76 - My listening angel heard the prayer, and, calmly smiling, said, " If I but touch thy silvered hair, thy hasty wish hath sped. " But is there nothing in thy track to bid thee fondly stay, While the swift seasons hurry back to find the wished-for day...
Стр. 295 - Snuffy old drone from the German hive ! That was the year when Lisbon-town Saw the earth open and gulp her down, And Braddock's army was done so brown, Left without a scalp to its crown. It was on the terrible Earthquake-day That the Deacon finished the one-hoss-shay.

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