The Glory of English Prose: Letters to My Grandson

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G.P. Putnam's Sons, 1922 - English language - 232 pages
 

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Page 106 - I STROVE with none, for none was worth my strife; Nature I loved, and next to Nature, Art; I warmed both hands before the fire of life; It sinks, and I am ready to depart.
Page 176 - Now we are engaged in a great civil war testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battlefield of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field as a final resting-place for those who here gave their lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this.
Page 62 - Having carried on my work thus far with so little obligation to any favourer of learning, I shall not be disappointed though I should conclude it, if less be possible, with less; for I have been long wakened from that dream of hope, in which I once boasted myself with so much exultation, My Lord, Your Lordship's most humble Most obedient servant, SAM. JOHNSON.
Page 74 - Death, that hath suck'd the honey of thy breath, Hath had no power yet upon thy beauty: Thou art not conquer'd; beauty's ensign yet Is crimson in thy lips and in thy cheeks, And death's pale flag is not advanced there.
Page 66 - It is gone, that sensibility of principle, that chastity of honour which felt a stain like a wound, which inspired courage whilst it mitigated ferocity, which ennobled whatever it touched, and under which vice itself lost half its evil by losing all its grossness.
Page 8 - ... a blush In the midst of brown was born, Like red poppies grown with corn. Round her eyes her tresses fell ; Which were blackest none could tell, But long lashes veiled a light That had else been all too bright. And her hat, with shady brim, Made her tressy forehead dim ; — Thus she stood amid the stocks, Praising God with sweetest looks : — Sure, I said, Heaven did not mean Where I reap thou shouldst but glean ; Lay thy sheaf adown and come, Share my harvest and my home.
Page 169 - There the historian of the Roman empire thought of the days when Cicero pleaded the cause of Sicily against Verres, and when, before a senate which still retained some show of freedom, Tacitus thundered against the oppressor of Africa.
Page 34 - Many a man lives a burden to the earth ; but a good book is the precious lifeblood of a master-spirit embalmed and treasured up on purpose to a life beyond life.
Page 23 - I have of late (but, wherefore, I know not) lost all my mirth, foregone all custom of exercises : and, indeed, it goes so heavily with my disposition, that this goodly frame, the earth, seems to me a sterile promontory ; this most excellent canopy, the air, look you — this brave o'erhanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted with golden fire — why, it appears no other thing to me than a foul and pestilent congregation of vapours.
Page 31 - Darkness and light divide the course of time, and oblivion shares with memory a great part even of our living beings ; we slightly remember our felicities, and the smartest strokes of affliction leave but short smart upon us. Sense endureth no extremities, and sorrows destroy us or themselves.

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