Memoirs of the Life of the Right Honourable Richard Brinsley Sheridan, Τόμος 1

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A. and W. Galignani, 1825 - 543 σελίδες

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Σελίδα 241 - Pity it is, that the momentary beauties flowing from an harmonious elocution, cannot like those of poetry be their own record! That the animated graces of the player can live no longer than the instant breath and motion that presents them; or at best can but faintly glimmer through the memory, or imperfect attestation of a few surviving spectators.
Σελίδα 194 - Well, I'll not debate how far scandal may be allowable ; but in a man, I am sure, it is always contemptible. We...
Σελίδα 302 - When he makes his jokes, you applaud the accuracy of his memory, and 'tis only when he states his facts that you admire the flights of his imagination.
Σελίδα 158 - Cheeks of rose, untouched by art ? I will own the colour true, When yielding blushes aid their hue. Is her hand so soft and pure ? I must press it, to be sure; Nor can I be certain then, Till it, grateful, press again. Must I, with attentive eye, Watch her heaving bosom sigh ? I will do so, when I see That heaving bosom sigh for me.
Σελίδα 236 - That's very true, indeed, Sir. Peter; and after having married you, I should never pretend to taste again, I allow...
Σελίδα 157 - I ne'er could any lustre see In eyes that would not look on me ; I ne'er saw nectar on a lip, But where my own did hope to sip.
Σελίδα 413 - the most astonishing effort of eloquence, argument, and wit united, of which there was any record or tradition." Fox said, " all that he had ever heard, all that he had ever read, when compared with it, dwindled into nothing, and vanished like vapour before the sun.
Σελίδα 232 - I don't say the sun shines all the day ; but, that he peeps now and then. Yet he does shine all the day, too, you know, though we don't see him.
Σελίδα 129 - Faulkland, you have not been more faulty in your unkind treatment of me than I am now in wanting inclination to resent it. As my heart honestly bids me place...
Σελίδα 250 - I can tell you it is not always so safe to leave a play in the hands of those who write themselves. SNEER. What, they may steal from them, hey, my dear Plagiary ? SIR FRET.

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