The World's Progress, Part 6

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Delphian society, 1913
 

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Page 319 - Their idols are silver and gold, the work of men's hands. They have mouths, but they speak not: eyes have they, but they see not: They have ears, but they hear not...
Page 212 - might I have had my own will, I would not have married Wisdom herself, if she would have had me: but 'tis to much purpose to evade it, the common custom and use of life will have it so. Most of my actions are guided by example, not choice.
Page 213 - The sincerity and marrow of the man reaches to his sentences. I know not anywhere the book that seems less written. It is the language of conversation transferred to a book. Cut these words, and they would bleed ; they are vascular and alive.
Page 24 - A few in fear, Flying away from him whose boast it was,* That the grass grew not where his horse had trod, Gave birth to VENICE.
Page 99 - Why, it's not nones, you silly little thing ; And don't you hear the nightingales that sing Fly away O die away ? " " OI hear something ! Hush ! "
Page 30 - Led by some strong enchantment, might ascend A magic ship, whose charmed sails should fly With winds at will where'er our thoughts might wend, So that no change, nor any evil chance Should mar our joyous voyage ; but it might be, That even satiety should still enhance Between our hearts their strict community j 3«4 And that the bounteous wizard then would place Vanna and Bice and my gentle love...
Page 36 - To this sonnet I received many answers, conveying many different opinions ; of the which one was sent by him whom I now call the first among my friends, and it began thus, " Unto my thinking thou beheld'st all worth.
Page 226 - Three times they knock, three times they cry, and wide the doors they throw; Dejectedly they enter, and mournfully they go; In gloomy lines they mustering stand beneath the hollow porch, Each horseman grasping in his hand a black and flaming torch; Wet is each eye as they go by, and all around is wailing, For all have heard the misery. "Alas! alas for Celin...
Page 84 - To where the last Caesarean fortress stood, Evergreen forest! which Boccaccio's lore And Dryden's lay made haunted ground to me, How have I loved the twilight hour and thee...
Page 228 - The Moorish King rides up and down, Through Granada's royal town; From Elvira's gates to those Of Bivarambla on he goes. Woe is me, Alhama!