All the Year Round: A Weekly Journal, Volumen33;Volumen53

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Charles Dickens, 1884
 

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Página 428 - I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts: I am no orator, as Brutus is, But, as you know me all, a plain blunt man, That love my friend; and that they know full well That gave me public leave to speak of him. For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth, Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech, To stir men's blood: I only speak right on...
Página 338 - The first sense of sorrow I ever knew was upon the death of my father, at which time I was not quite five years of age ; but was rather amazed at what all the house meant, than possessed with a real understanding why nobody was willing to play with me.
Página 194 - I did thirst To see the man so praised. But yet all this Was but a maiden longing to be lost As soon as found ; till, sitting in my window, Printing my thoughts in lawn, I saw a god, I thought (but it was you), enter our gates : My blood flew out and back again, as fast As I had puffed it forth and sucked it in Like breath : then was I called away in haste To entertain you.
Página 122 - How sickness enlarges the dimensions of a man's self to himself! he is his own exclusive object. Supreme selfishness is inculcated upon him as his only duty. Tis the Two Tables of the Law to him. He has nothing to think of but how to get well.
Página 97 - All causes shall give way ; I am in blood Stepp'd in so far, that, should I wade no more, Returning were as tedious as go o'er : Strange things I have in head, that will to hand ; Which must be acted, ere they may be scann'd.
Página 53 - Falstaffe, and swaggering Pistoll. As it hath been sundrie times publikely acted by the right honourable, the Lord Chamberlaine his seruants. Written by William Shakespeare.
Página 30 - The house full of Parliament-men, it being holyday with them : and it was observable how a gentleman of good habit, sitting just before us, eating of some fruit in the midst of the play, did drop down as dead, being choked ; but with much ado Orange Moll did thrust her finger down his throat, and brought him to life again.
Página 478 - If ever one is to pray — if ever one is to feel grave and anxious — if ever one is to shrink from vain show and vain babble — surely it is just on the occasion of two human beings binding themselves to one another, for better and for worse, till death part them...
Página 122 - What a world of foreign cares are merged in that absorbing consideration ! He has put on the strong armour of sickness, he is wrapped in the callous hide of suffering ; he keeps his sympathy, like some curious vintage, under trusty lock and key, for his own use only. He lies pitying himself, honing and moaning to himself; he yearneth...
Página 483 - Ah me! for aught that ever I could read. Could ever hear by tale or history, The course of true love never did run smooth: But, either it was different in blood; Her.

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