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Page 11 - ... 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 commonplace ideas of fat contented ignorance looking downwards upon the earth it look'd forwards ; but look'd, as if it look'd at something beyond this world.
Page 182 - There is not a secret so aiding to the progress of sociality, as to get master of this short hand, and be quick in rendering the several turns of looks and limbs, with all their inflections and delineations, into plain words.
Page 84 - What a large volume of adventures may be grasped within this little span of life, by him who interests his heart in every thing, and who, having eyes to see what time and chance are perpetually holding out to him as he journeyeth on his way, misses nothing he can fairly lay his hands on.
Page 85 - 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.
Page 124 - 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.
Page 126 - Germany; but having in one week lost two of the eldest of them by the small-pox, and the youngest falling ill of the same distemper, he was afraid of being bereft of them all; and made a vow, if Heaven would not take him from him also, he would go in gratitude to St lago in Spain.
Page 16 - I, laying my hand upon the sleeve of his tunic, in return for his appeal — we distinguish, my good father, betwixt those who wish only to eat the bread of their own labour, and those who eat the bread of other people's, and have no other plan in life, but to get through it in sloth and ignorance for the love of God.
Page 8 - Now, was I a King of France, cried I what a moment for an orphan to have begg'd his father's portmanteau of me! The Monk — Calais I HAD scarce uttered the words, when a poor monk of the order of St. Francis came into the room to beg something for his convent.
Page 18 - Psha !" said I, with an air of carelessness, three several times — but it would not do : every ungracious syllable I had uttered crowded back into my imagination : I reflected I had no right over the poor Franciscan but to deny him ; and that the punishment of that was enough to the disappointed without the addition of unkind language.