ما يقوله الناس - كتابة مراجعة
LibraryThing Reviewمعاينة المستخدمين - A_musing - LibraryThing
Oh, my, these are hilarious! A collection of essays by Lamb's imaginary friend, an eclectic, off-beat and highly opinionated persona. The preface, bemoaning the death of the imaginary friend while ... قراءة التقييم بأكمله
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الصفحة 174 - In the same hour came forth fingers of a man's hand, and wrote over against the candlestick upon the plaster of the wall of the king's palace: and the king saw the part of the hand that wrote.
الصفحة 142 - COME, sleep ; O sleep ! the certain knot of peace, The baiting-place of wit, the balm of woe, The poor man's wealth, the prisoner's release, The indifferent judge between the high and low ; With shield of proof, shield me from out the prease Of those fierce darts despair at me doth throw.
الصفحة 151 - To hear him speak, and sweetly smile, You were in Paradise the while. A sweet attractive kind of grace ; A full assurance given by looks ; Continual comfort in a face, The lineaments of Gospel books — I trow that count'nance cannot lye, Whose thoughts are legible in the eye.
الصفحة 144 - Townsfolk my strength ; a daintier judge applies His praise to sleight, which from good use doth rise ; Some lucky wits impute it but to chance ; Others, because of both sides I do take My blood from them, who did excel in this, Think Nature me a man of arms did make. How far they shot awry ! the true cause is, STELLA looked on, and from her heavenly face Sent forth the beams which made so fair my race.
الصفحة 149 - Despair at me doth throw; 0 make in me those civil wars to cease : 1 will good tribute pay, if thou do so. Take thou of me smooth pillows, sweetest bed ; A chamber, deaf to noise, and blind to light; A rosy garland, and a weary head.
الصفحة 97 - For the first day or two I felt stunned, overwhelmed. I could only apprehend my felicity ; I was too confused to taste it sincerely. I wandered about, thinking I was happy, and knowing that I was not. I was in the condition of a prisoner in the old Bastile, suddenly let loose after a forty years
الصفحة 146 - ... what they mean by it ; And this I swear by blackest brook of hell, I am no pick-purse of another's wit. How falls it then, that with so smooth an ease My thoughts I speak, and what I speak doth flow In verse, and that my verse best wits doth please ? Guess me the cause — what is it thus?
الصفحة 148 - By no encroachment wrong'd, nor time forgot ; Nor blamed for blood, nor shamed for sinful deed. And that you know, I envy you no lot Of highest wish, I wish you so much bliss, Hundreds of years you STELLA'S feet may kiss.
الصفحة 276 - It is a mockery, all that is reported of the influential Phoebus. No true poem ever owed its birth to the sun's light. They are abstracted works — " Things that were born, when none but the still night, And his dumb candle, saw his pinching throes.
الصفحة 98 - Bastile, suddenly let loose after a forty years' confinement. I could scarce trust myself with myself. It was like passing out of Time into Eternity, — for it is a sort of Eternity for a man to have his Time all to himself. It seemed to me that I had more time on my hands than I could ever manage. From a poor man, poor in Time, I was suddenly lifted up into a vast revenue ; I could see no end of my possessions ; I wanted some steward, or judicious bailiff, to manage my estates in Time for me. And...