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Little Journeys to the Homes of Great Lovers: Fenelon and Madame Guyon
Keine Leseprobe verfügbar - 2015
Abbess ambition Antonio Allegri artist Barbizon Barbizon School beautiful Benvenuto boat bow-legs Camille Corot Cellini cherub child Claude Claude Lorraine Constable Convent Correggio dark doubt draw drygoods easels Edwin Abbey Eighteen Hundred Elbert Hubbard enemy eyes father Florence flowers furnace gave genius Gentile Gentile Bellini Gian Bellini Giorgione give gondolier gone good-cheer goodly hand Harper's heart hunchback Jacopo Bellini literary lived look Major Whistler Master Michelangelo miles Millet morning mother Murano Nature never night Nuremberg Old Jacopo once paint painter parents Paris Parma passed peace peasant played pose putti rogue Ruskin Saint San Paola sent sing sketches soul spirit stood straightway studio sure Swiss teacher tell things thought Titian told took Turner Vasari Venice Veronica Gambara wanted Washington Irving West Point woman women
Seite 179 - And when the evening mist clothes the riverside with poetry, as with a veil, and the poor buildings lose themselves in the dim sky, and the tall chimneys become campanili, and the warehouses are palaces in the night, and the whole city hangs in the heavens, and fairy-land is before us...
Seite 178 - Nature contains the elements, in colour and form, of all pictures, as the keyboard contains the notes of all music. But the artist is born to pick, and choose, and group with science, these elements, that the result may be beautiful — as the musician gathers his notes, and forms his chords, until he bring forth from chaos glorious harmony.
Seite 118 - Jumping from my bed, I seized my clothes and began to dress. The maids, and my lad, and every one who came around to help me, got kicks or blows of the fist, while I kept crying out in lamentation: "Ah! traitors! enviers! This is an act of treason, done by malice prepense! But I swear by God that I will sift it to the bottom, and before I die will leave such witness to the world of what I can do as shall make a score of mortals marvel.
Seite 121 - I had the mouths of my mold immediately opened, and at the same time drove in the two plugs which kept back the molten metal. But I noticed that it did not flow as rapidly as usual, the reason being probably that the fierce heat of the fire we kindled had consumed its base alloy. Accordingly I sent for all my pewter platters...
Seite 181 - Surely are we weary of weeping, and our tears have been cozened from us falsely, for they have called out woe! when there was no grief— and, alas! where all is fair! We have then but to wait — until, with the mark of the Gods upon him — there come among us again the chosen— who shall continue what has gone before.
Seite 117 - I have taught you; do your best with all despatch, for the metal will soon be fused. You cannot go wrong; these honest men will get the channels ready; you will easily be able to drive back the two plugs with this pair of iron crooks; and I am sure that my mould will fill miraculously. I feel more ill than I ever did in all my life, and verily believe that it will kill me before a few hours are over.
Seite 179 - ... riverside with poetry, as with a veil, and the poor buildings lose themselves in the dim sky, and the tall chimneys become campanili, and the warehouses are palaces in the night, and the whole city hangs in the heavens, and fairy-land is before us - then the wayfarer hastens home; the working man and the cultured one, the wise man and the one of pleasure, cease to understand, as they have ceased to see, and Nature, who, for once, has sung in tune, sings her exquisite song to the artist alone...
Seite 118 - While I was thus terribly afflicted, I beheld the figure of a man enter my chamber, twisted in his body into the form of a capital S. He raised a lamentable, doleful voice, like one who announces their last hour to men condemned to die upon the scaffold, and spoke these words: "O Benvenuto! your statue is spoiled, and there is no hope whatever of saving it.
Seite 179 - ... and the one of pleasure, cease to understand, as they have ceased to see, and Nature, who, for once, has sung in tune, sings her exquisite song to the artist alone, her son and her master — her son in that he loves her, her master in that he knows her. To him her secrets are unfolded, to him her lessons have become gradually clear. He looks at her flower, not with the enlarging lens, that he may gather facts for the botanist but with the light of the one who sees in her choice selection of...
Seite 178 - The sun blares, the wind blows from the east, the sky is bereft of cloud. and without, all is of iron. The windows of the Crystal Palace are seen from all points of London. The holiday maker rejoices in the glorious day, and the painter turns aside to shut his eyes.