The Works of George Meredith, Volume 16C. Scribner's sons, 1897 |
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admiration Arthur Rhodes asked beauty behold blood bosom brains breath Brisby called character colour confessed Copsley creature Crossways Danvers dear Diana Warwick Dunstane's Emma Emma's Emmy English eyes face fancy feel fellow gentleman girl hand happiness head hear heard heart Henry Wilmers honour hope hour husband imagine Irish knew Lady Dunstane Lady Esquart Lady Pennon Lady Wathin laughed letter lips live Lockton London look Lord Dannisburgh Lord Larrian lover Lugano ma'am maid marriage married Merion mind Miss Asper Miss Paynham mistress morning nature ness never night passion Percy Dacier person Planxty poor Puritani Redworth replied Rovio secret seemed sentimental Sir Lukin smiled soul speak Sullivan Smith sure talk tattlers tell thing thought Three Ravens Tonans Tony Tony's walk Westlake Whitmonby wife wish woman women word write Wroxeter young
Brani popolari
Pagina 1 - A lady of high distinction for wit and beauty, the daughter of an illustrious Irish House, came under the shadow of a calumny. It has latterly been examined and exposed as baseless. The story of Diana of the Crossways is to be read as fiction.
Pagina 4 - A witty woman is a treasure ; a witty Beauty is a power. Has she actual beauty, actual wit? — not simply a tidal material beauty that passes current...
Pagina 480 - Who can really think and not think hopefully ? You were in my mind last night, and you brought a little boat to sail me past despondency of life and the fear of extinction. When we despair or discolour things, it is our senses in revolt, and they have made the sovereign brain their drudge. I heard you whisper, with your very breath in my ear : ' There is nothing the body suffers that the soul may not profit by.
Pagina 269 - I wonder whether the world is as bad as a certain class of writers tell us ! " she sighed in weariness, and mused on their soundings and probings of poor humanity, which the world accepts for the very bottom-truth if their dredge brings up sheer refuse of the abominable. The world imagines those to be at our nature's depths who are impudent enough to expose its muddy shallows.
Pagina 14 - I fail to cherish it in every fibre the fires within are waning,' and that drives like rain to the roots. She says of the world, generously, if with tapering idea : ' From the point of vision of the angels, this ugly monster, only half out of slime, must appear our one constant hero.' It can be read maliciously, but abstain. She says of Romance: 'The young who avoid that region escape the title of Fool at the cost of a celestial crown.
Pagina 18 - As she grows in the flesh when discreetly tended, nature is unimpeachable, flower-like, yet not too decoratively a flower ; you must have her with the stem, the thorns, the roots, and the fat bedding of roses.
Pagina 20 - A great modern writer, of clearest eye and head, now departed, capable in activity of presenting thoughtful women, thinking men, groaned over his puppetry, that he dared not animate them, flesh though they were, with the fires of positive brainstuff. He could have done it, and he is of the departed! Had he dared, he would (for he was Titan enough) have raised the Art in dignity on a level with History, to an interest surpassing the narrative of public deeds as vividly as man's heart and brain in...
Pagina 122 - English women and men feel toward the quick-witted of their species as to aliens, having the demerits of aliens — wordiness, vanity, obscurity, shallowness, an empty glitter, the sin of posturing.
Pagina 12 - Men may have rounded Seraglio Point : they have not yet doubled Cape Turk." It is war, and on the male side, Ottoman war; her experience reduced her to think so positively. Her main personal experience was in the social class which is primitively venatorial still, canine under its polish. She held a brief for her beloved Ireland. She closes a discussion upon Irish agitation by saying rather neatly: " You have taught them it is English as well as common human nature to feel...
Pagina 21 - The forecast may be hazarded, that if we do not speedily embrace Philosophy in fiction, the Art is doomed to extinction, under the shining multitude of its professors. They are fast capping the candle. Instead, therefore, of objurgating the timid intrusions of Philosophy, invoke her presence, I pray you. History without her is the skeleton map of events: Fiction a picture of figures modelled on no skeleton-anatomy. But each, with Philosophy in aid, blooms, and is humanly shapely.