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answered appeared aspect Aylmer Beatrice beautiful better breath character cheek City clouds companion continued cried dark deep doubt dream earth existence expression eyes face fair Faith fancy father fear feeling felt figure fire flowers garden gaze Georgiana Giovanni give gleam Goodman Brown grew guest half hall hand head heard heart heaven human idea imagination Italy kind leaves less light living looked matter meet merely mind Monsieur du Miroir moral Mother Rigby nature never observe once passed perfect perhaps person pipe plant poor present pretty procession Rappaccini rich river seemed seen shadow side smile smoke soul spirit stand stood strange sunshine thee thing thou thought took trees true truth turned voice whole wife window witch woman wonder woods young youth
الصفحة 136 - By the by," said the professor, looking uneasily about him, " what singular fragrance is this in your apartment ? Is it the perfume of your gloves? It is faint, but delicious; and yet, after all, by no means agreeable. Were I to breathe it long, methinks it would make me ill. It is like the breath of a flower; but I see no flowers in the chamber.
الصفحة 58 - ... ideal at which he aimed. His brightest diamonds were the merest pebbles, and felt to be so by himself, in comparison with the inestimable gems which lay hidden beyond his reach. The volume, rich with achievements that had won renown for its author, was yet as melancholy a record as ever mortal hand had penned. It was the sad confession and continual exemplification of the shortcomings of the composite man, the spirit...
الصفحة 101 - Verse after verse was sung ; and still the chorus of the desert swelled between like the deepest tone of a mighty organ ; and with the final peal of that dreadful anthem there came a sound, as if the roaring wind, the rushing streams, the howling beasts, and every other voice of the unconverted wilderness were mingling and according with the voice of guilty man in homage to the prince of all.
الصفحة 97 - There was a scream, drowned immediately in a louder murmur of voices, fading into far-off laughter, as the dark cloud swept away, leaving the clear and silent sky above Goodman Brown. But something fluttered lightly down through the air and caught on the branch of a tree. The young man seized it, and beheld a pink ribbon. "My Faith is gone!" cried he, after one stupefied moment. "There is no good on earth; and sin is but a name. Come, Devil; for to thee is this world given.
الصفحة 16 - ... and odd -fellows. And what is more melancholy than the old apple-trees that linger about the spot where once stood a homestead, but where there is now only a ruined chimney rising out of a grassy and weed-grown cellar ? They offer their fruit to every wayfarer, — apples that are bitter sweet with the moral of Time's vicissitude.
الصفحة 100 - Gookin had arrived, and waited at the skirts of that venerable saint, his revered pastor. But, irreverently consorting with these grave, reputable, and pious people, these elders of the church, these chaste dames and dewy virgins, there were men of dissolute lives and women of spotted fame, wretches given over to all mean and filthy vice, and suspected even of horrid crimes. It was strange to see, that the good shrank not from the wicked, nor were the sinners abashed by the saints.
الصفحة 93 - Ah, forsooth, and is it your worship indeed?" cried the good dame. "Yea, truly is it, and in the very image of my old gossip, Goodman Brown, the grandfather of the silly fellow that now is.
الصفحة 47 - continued Georgiana, hastily; for she dreaded lest a gush of tears should interrupt what she had to say. " A terrible dream! I wonder that you can forget it. Is it possible to forget this one expression ? —' It is in her heart now ; we must have it out!' Reflect, my husband ; for by all means I would have you recall that dream.
الصفحة 35 - What better could be done for weary and world-worn spirits? What better could be done for anybody, who came within our magic circle, than to throw the spell of a magic spirit over him?" So all that day, half-buried in the new clover, I watched this Hawthorne's "Assyrian dawn, and Paphian sunset and moonrise, from the summit of our Eastern Hill.