The Ogilvies: A Novel

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Harper, 1875 - 432 pages

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Page 20 - Love took up the harp of life, and smote on all the chords with might; Smote the chord of self, that, trembling, passed in music out of sight.
Page 170 - I see thee old and formal, fitted to thy petty part, With a little hoard of maxims preaching down a daughter's heart. "They were dangerous guides the feelings — she herself was not exempt — Truly, she herself had suffer'd" — Perish in thy self-contempt ! Overlive it — lower yet — be happy!
Page 267 - I say, whether it is that which has given me the feeling which has come over me, that " it is better to go to the house of mourning than to the house of feasting," and that " sorrow is better than laughter.
Page 191 - What is a man, If his chief good and market of his time Be but to sleep and feed? a beast, no more. Sure he that made us with such large discourse, Looking before and after, gave us not That capability and god-like reason To fust in us unus'd.
Page 191 - Of thinking too precisely on the event, A thought which, quarter'd, hath but one part wisdom And ever three parts coward, I do not know Why yet I live to say, This thing's to do ; Sith I have cause and will and strength and means To do't.
Page 233 - On lips that are for others; deep as love, Deep as first love, and wild with all regret; O Death in Life, the days that are no more.
Page 184 - some are born to greatness, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them.
Page 417 - Half could I bear, methinks, to leave this earth, — And thee, more loved than aught beneath the sun, If I had lived to smile but on the birth Of one dear pledge : — but shall there then be none, In future times — no gentle little one, To clasp thy neck, and look resembling me ? Yet seems it, even while life's last pulses run, A sweetness in the cup of death to be, Lord of my bosom's love ! to die beholding thee...
Page 200 - ... when the breeze comes by, moan and are heard no more. And must the harp of Judah sleep again? Shall I no more reanimate the lay? Oh! thou who visitest the sons of men, Thou who dost listen when the humble pray, One little space prolong my mournful day! One little lapse suspend thy last decree! I am a youthful traveller in the way, And this slight boon would consecrate to thee, Ere I with Death shake hands, and smile that I am free.
Page 147 - Hast thou found honey ? eat so much as is sufficient for thee, lest thou be filled therewith, and vomit it. 17 Withdraw thy foot from thy neighbour's house; lest he be weary of thee, and so hate thee.

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