American Monthly Knickerbocker, Volumen20

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Página 197 - doth affect A saucy roughness, and constrains the garb Quite from his nature. ' He cannot flatter, he ! An honest mind, and plain — he must speak truth : An ' if they take it, so ; if not, he 's plain !
Página 201 - the lost Friend still mysteriously here, even as we are here, mysteriously, with GOD ? Know of a truth that only the Time-shadows have perished or are perishable ; that the real Being of whatever was, and whatever is, and whatever will be, is even now and for ever!
Página 203 - all, were it only a withered leaf, works together with all; is borne forward on the bottomless shoreless flood of Action, and lives through perpetual metamorphoses. The withered leaf is not dead and lost; there are forces in it and around it, though working in
Página 498 - avenues, thou the earth-blinded, summonest both Past and Future, and communest with them, though as yet darkly, and with mute beckonings. The curtains of Yesterday drop down, the curtains of To-morrow roll up ; but yesterday and to-morrow both are.
Página 591 - on this side them.' And yet, GOD deliver us from pinching poverty ; and grant that, having a competency, we may be content and thankful ! Let us not repine, or so much, as think the gifts of GOD
Página 588 - content with a fit of happiness ; and surely it is not a melancholy conceit to think we are all asleep in this world, and that the conceits of this life are as mere
Página 95 - the rushing off of its thousand mills, like the boom of an Atlantic tide ; ten thousand times ten thousand spools and spindles all set humming there ? It is perhaps, if thou knew it well, sublime as a Niagara, or more so.
Página 299 - Nature! art thou not the Living Garment of God? O Heavens! is it in very deed HE then that ever speaks through thee ; that lives and loves in thee, that lives and
Página 75 - I am a true laborer: I earn that I eat, get that I wear, owe no man hate, envy no man's happiness.
Página 203 - As I rode through the Schwarzwald, I said to myself: ' That little fire which glows star-like across the dark-growing moor, where the sooty smith bends over his anvil, is it a detached, separated speck,

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