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Henry Frowde, Oxford University Press, 1910 - 303 páginas

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Página 263 - ... reason and my blood, And let all sleep, while to my shame I see The imminent death of twenty thousand men, That for a fantasy and trick of fame Go to their graves like beds, fight for a plot Whereon the numbers cannot try the cause, Which is not tomb enough and continent To hide the slain ? O, from this time forth, My thoughts be bloody, or be nothing worth ! \Exit.
Página 288 - Helicanus, strike me, honour'd sir ; Give me a gash, put me to present pain ; Lest this great sea of joys rushing upon me, O'erbear the shores of my mortality, And drown me with their sweetness.
Página 273 - I have almost forgot the taste of fears. The time has been my senses would have cool'd To hear a night-shriek, and my fell of hair Would at a dismal treatise rouse and stir As life were in 't. I have supp'd full with horrors; Direness, familiar to my slaughterous thoughts, Cannot once start me.
Página 280 - And whether we shall meet again I know not. Therefore our everlasting farewell take : For ever, and for ever, farewell, Cassius ! If we do meet again, why, we shall smile ; If not, why then, this parting was well made.
Página 273 - She should have died hereafter ; There would have been a time for such a word. To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, To the last syllable of recorded time ; And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death.
Página 181 - I told her that in my own judgment the poem had too much; and that the only or chief fault, if I might say so, was the obtrusion of the moral sentiment so openly on the reader as a principle or cause of action in a work of such pure imagination. It ought to have had no more moral than the Arabian Nights...
Página 274 - To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, To the last syllable of recorded time ; And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle ! Life 's but a walking shadow ; a poor player, That struts and frets his hour upon the stage, And then is heard no more : it is a tale Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, Signifying nothing.
Página 194 - So feeling comes in aid Of feeling, and diversity of strength Attends us, if but once we have been strong. Oh! mystery of man, from what a depth Proceed thy honours. I am lost, but see In simple childhood something of the...
Página 203 - The sanction ; till, demanding formal proof, And seeking it in everything, I lost All feeling of conviction, and, in fine, Sick, wearied out with contrarieties, Yielded up moral questions in despair.
Página 284 - Now, Iras, what think'st thou? Thou, an Egyptian puppet, shall be shown In Rome, as well as I; mechanic slaves With greasy aprons, rules and hammers, shall Uplift us to the view; in their thick breaths, Rank of gross diet, shall we be enclouded, And forc'd to drink their vapour.

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