Works, Band 6

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B. Blackwell, 1927
 

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Seite 93 - ... his chair and bed. A little calendar of small sticks were laid at the head, notched all over with the dismal days and nights he had passed there; he had one of these little sticks in his hand, and with a rusty nail he was etching another day of misery to add to the heap. As I darkened the little light he had, he lifted up a hopeless eye towards the door, then cast it down. — shook his head, and went on with his work of affliction.
Seite 32 - I pity the man who can travel from Dan. to Beersheba, and cry, 'Tis all barren and so it is; and so is all the world to him, who will not cultivate the fruits it offers.
Seite 89 - Make the most of it you can, said I to myself, the Bastile is but another word for a tower — and a tower is but another word for a house you can't get out of — Mercy on the gouty! for they are in it twice a year — but with nine livres a day, and pen and ink and paper and patience, albeit a man can't get out, he may do very well within...
Seite 61 - HAIL ye small sweet courtesies of life, for smooth do ye make the road of it! like grace and beauty which beget inclinations to love at first sight; 'tis ye who open this door and let the stranger in.
Seite 268 - ... enough to be introduced as a friend to my fair Indian disciple, and to see her eclipse all other Nabobesses as much in wealth as she does already in exterior and, what is far better" (for Sterne is nothing without his morality), "'in interior merit.
Seite 92 - I beheld his body half wasted away with long expectation and confinement, and felt what kind of sickness of the heart it was which arises from hope deferred. Upon looking nearer, I saw him pale and feverish...
Seite 32 - The learned SMELFUNGUS travelled from Boulogne to Paris from Paris to Rome and so on but he set out with the spleen and jaundice, and every object he pass'd by was discoloured or distorted He wrote an account of them, but 'twas nothing but the account of his miserable feelings.
Seite 5 - ... wrinkles in it before their time, agreed to the account. It was one of those heads which Guido has often painted, — mild, pale, penetrating, free from all common-place ideas...
Seite 47 - He then took his crust of bread out of his wallet again, as if to eat it, held it some time in his hand, — then laid it upon the bit of his ass's bridle, — looked wistfully at the little arrangement he had made, — and then gave a sigh.
Seite 91 - ... power turn thy sceptre into iron; with thee to smile upon him as he eats his crust, the swain is happier than his monarch, from whose court thou art exiled. Gracious heaven...

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