Proverbs, Maxims and Phrases of All Ages: Classified Subjectively and Arranged Alphabetically, Volumen2

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G. P. Putnam's sons, 1887
 

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Página 466 - Sir, a woman's preaching is like a dog's walking on his hind legs. It is not done well ; but you are surprised to find it done at all.
Página 386 - Vice is a monster of so frightful mien, As, to be hated, needs but to be seen; Yet seen too oft, familiar with her face, We first endure, then pity, then embrace.
Página 259 - Macbeth does murder sleep;' the innocent sleep : Sleep, that knits up the ravelled sleeve of care, The death of each day's life, sore labor's bath, Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course ; Chief nourisher in life's feast.
Página 479 - They talk about a woman's sphere. As though it had a limit; There's not a place in earth or heaven, There's not a task to mankind given, There's not a blessing or a woe, There's not a whisper, Yes or No, There's not a life, or death, or birth, That has a feather's weight of worth, Without a woman in it.
Página 125 - But pleasures are like poppies spread, You seize the flower, its bloom is shed; Or like the snow-fall in the river, A moment white — then melts for ever; Or like the borealis race, That flit ere you can point their place; Or like the rainbow's lovely form Evanishing amid the storm. Nae man can tether time or tide; The hour approaches Tarn maun ride — That hour o...
Página 368 - Truth, crushed to earth, shall rise again; The eternal years of God are hers; But Error, wounded, writhes in pain,' And dies among his worshippers.
Página 32 - Though the mills of God grind slowly, yet they grind exceeding small; Though with patience he stands waiting, with exactness grinds he all.
Página 257 - Slaves cannot breathe in England ; if their lungs Receive our air, that moment they are free; They touch our country, and their shackles fall.
Página 299 - Strike, till the last armed foe expires, Strike, for your altars and your fires, Strike, for the green graves of your sires, God, and your native land.
Página 203 - Like the vase, in which roses have once been distilled — You may break, you may shatter the vase if you will. But the scent of the roses will hang round it still.

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