The Glory of English Prose: Letters to My Grandson |
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Page 127
But how much nobler will be the sovereign's boast when he shall have it to say , that he found law dear , and left it cheap ; found it a sealed book - left it a living letter ; found it the patrimony of the rich - left it the ...
But how much nobler will be the sovereign's boast when he shall have it to say , that he found law dear , and left it cheap ; found it a sealed book - left it a living letter ; found it the patrimony of the rich - left it the ...
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admiration battle beautiful blessed born cause century character close dead DEAR ANTONY death deep displayed earth eloquence emotions Empire England English English prose expression face faith fall father feel field followed France freedom give glorious glory grave greatest hand head heart heaven honour hope House human hundred King labours land language less letters light literature living look Lord lost loving old G. P. master mean memory ment mind moving nature never noble once passage passed perhaps present prose quote race reached rest reverence rising seemed seen side sound speak speech spirit splendid stand strength style sure sweet thee things thou thought thousand tion touch true turned utterances voice whole wonderful writers written wrote
Popular passages
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.
Bibliographic information
| Title | The Glory of English Prose: Letters to My Grandson |
| Author | Stephen Coleridge |
| Publisher | G.P. Putnam's Sons, 1922 |
| Original from | the New York Public Library |
| Digitized | 18 Jan 2006 |
| Length | 232 pages |
| Export Citation | BiBTeX EndNote RefMan |