The Drawing-room magazine: or, Ladies book of fancy needlework and choice literature |
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Page 83
... thought soon comes to look very like Truth, No real reader of Scott, or Bulwer,
or Dickens, but peoples hearth and home with the creations of the potent
Magicians — Lucy Ashton — lone — Little Nell, are as much before us now as
when they ...
... thought soon comes to look very like Truth, No real reader of Scott, or Bulwer,
or Dickens, but peoples hearth and home with the creations of the potent
Magicians — Lucy Ashton — lone — Little Nell, are as much before us now as
when they ...
Page 243
Oh what marvellous pictures are created thus ! and how soon their bright color
fades and dies out ! But as we have before observed, this is not the Dreamland of
which we sat down to write. The City of Dreams, can, for the most part, only be ...
Oh what marvellous pictures are created thus ! and how soon their bright color
fades and dies out ! But as we have before observed, this is not the Dreamland of
which we sat down to write. The City of Dreams, can, for the most part, only be ...
Page 282
... or an instrument of torture. We can make it either. If it burn in an atmosphere of
purity, it will warm, guide, cheer us. If in the mist of selfishness, or under the
pressure of pride, its flame will be unsteady, and we shall soon have good
reason to ...
... or an instrument of torture. We can make it either. If it burn in an atmosphere of
purity, it will warm, guide, cheer us. If in the mist of selfishness, or under the
pressure of pride, its flame will be unsteady, and we shall soon have good
reason to ...
Page 318
been tempted by the situation to make Cordelia a second Cinderella, withdraws
her from the scene as soon as the darker passions gloom upon the stage. Like
the lingering light of an evening in autumn, longingly as it lurks round the
withering ...
been tempted by the situation to make Cordelia a second Cinderella, withdraws
her from the scene as soon as the darker passions gloom upon the stage. Like
the lingering light of an evening in autumn, longingly as it lurks round the
withering ...
Page 368
Soon the sweet violet, soon the lily dies, Soon melts the whiteness of the fleeting
snow ; Thus passes youth, thus fades its vernal glow." In the " Language of
Flowers" we are told that the Lily which, according to Churchill, is "the silver
mistress ...
Soon the sweet violet, soon the lily dies, Soon melts the whiteness of the fleeting
snow ; Thus passes youth, thus fades its vernal glow." In the " Language of
Flowers" we are told that the Lily which, according to Churchill, is "the silver
mistress ...
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Popular passages
Page 53 - I REMEMBER, I REMEMBER. I REMEMBER, I remember The house where I was born, The little window where the sun Came peeping in at morn ; He never came a wink too soon. Nor brought too long a day ; But now I often wish the night Had borne my breath away ! I remember, I remember...
Page 386 - I loved Ophelia : forty thousand brothers Could not, with all their quantity of love, Make up my sum.
Page 380 - He raised a sigh so piteous and profound As it did seem to shatter all his bulk And end his being. That done, he lets me go, And with his head over his shoulder turned He seemed to find his way without his eyes, For out o' doors he went without their help And to the last bended their light on me.
Page 321 - No, no, no life : Why should a dog, a horse, a rat, have life, And thou no breath at all ? Thou'lt come no more. Never, never, never, never, never ! — Pray you undo this button : thank you, sir.
Page 113 - Let me not to the marriage of true minds Admit impediments. Love is not love Which alters when it alteration finds, Or bends with the remover to remove. O, no! it is an ever-fixed mark That looks on tempests and is never shaken; It is the star to every wandering bark, Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Page 106 - Dis's waggon! daffodils That come before the swallow dares, and take The winds of March with beauty; violets dim, But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes Or Cytherea's breath...
Page 331 - Oh, Love! what is it in this world of ours Which makes it fatal to be loved? Ah why With cypress branches hast thou wreathed thy bowers, And made thy best interpreter a sigh? As those who dote on odours pluck the flowers, And place them on their breast — but place to die — Thus the frail beings we would fondly cherish Are laid within our bosoms but to perish.
Page 380 - Doubt thou the stars are fire ; Doubt that the sun doth move ; Doubt truth to be a liar ; But never doubt I love.
Page 24 - And should my youth, as youth is apt I know, Some harshness show, All vain asperities I day by day Would wear away, Till the smooth temper of my age should be Like the high leaves upon the Holly Tree.
Page 107 - I'd have you do it ever : when you sing, I'd have you buy and sell so ; so give alms ; Pray so ; and, for the ordering your affairs, To sing them too. When you do dance, I wish you A wave o...