Memoirs of a Literary Veteran: Including Sketches and Anecdotes of the Most Distinguished Literary Characters from 1794-1849, Volume 3

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R. Bentley, 1851 - Authors
 

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Page 20 - Tis to create, and in creating live A being more intense, that we endow With form our fancy, gaining as we give The life we image, even as I do now. What am I? Nothing; but not so art thou, Soul of my thought! with whom I traverse earth, Invisible but gazing, as I glow Mix'd with thy spirit, blended with thy birth, And feeling still with thee in my crush'd feelings
Page 116 - I was to have gone there on Saturday, in joy and prosperity, to receive my friends. My dogs will wait for me in vain. It is foolish — but the thoughts of parting from these dumb creatures have moved me more than any of the painful reflections I have put down. Poor things ! I must get them kind masters ! There may be yet those who, loving me, may love my dog, because it has been mine. I must end these gloomy forebodings, or I shall lose the tone of mind with which men should meet distress. I feel...
Page 115 - What a life mine has been ! — half educated, almost wholly neglected or left to myself, stuffing my head with most nonsensical trash, and undervalued in society for a time by most of my companions — getting forward and held a bold and clever fellow contrary to the opinion of all who thought me a mere dreamer — Broken-hearted for two years — my heart handsomely pieced again — but the crack will remain till my dying day.
Page 115 - I much doubt, the general knowledge that an author must write for his bread, at least for improving his pittance, degrades him and his productions in the public eye. He falls into the second-rate rank of estimation : ' While the harness sore galls, and the spurs his side goad, The high-mettled racer's a hack on the road.
Page 117 - When I die, will the journal of these days be taken out of the ebony cabinet at Abbotsford, and read with wonder, that the wellseeming Baronet should ever have experienced the risk of such a hitch? Or will it be found in some obscure lodging-house, where the decayed son of Chivalry had hung up his scutcheon, and where one or two old friends will look grave, and whisper to each other, ' Poor gentleman ' — 'a well-meaning man ' — ' nobody's enemy but his own ' — ' thought his parts would never...
Page 116 - Rich and poor four or five times; once on the verge of ruin, yet opened a new source of wealth almost overflowing. Now to be broken in my pitch of pride, and nearly winged ^unless good news should come), because London chooses to be in an uproar, and in the tumult of bulls and bears, a poor inoffensive lion like myself is pushed to the wall. But what is to be the end of it ? God knows ; and so ends the catechism.
Page 116 - Let them indulge their own pride in thinking that my fall makes them higher, or seems so at least. I have the satisfaction to recollect that my prosperity has been of advantage to many, and that some, at least, will forgive my transient wealth on account of the innocence of my intentions, and my real wish to do good to the poor.
Page 114 - Poor TS called again yesterday. Through his incoherent, miserable tale, I could see that he had exhausted each access to credit, and yet fondly imagines that, bereft of all his accustomed indulgences, he can work with a literary zeal unknown to his happier days. I hope he may labour enough to gain the mere support of his family. For myself, if things go badly in London, the magic wand of the Unknown will be shivered in his grasp.
Page 59 - ... that his literary resources were far greater in extent than those of Sir Walter Scott or any other contemporary...
Page 115 - He must then, faith, be termed the Toowell-known. The feast of fancy will be over with the feeling of independence. He shall no longer have the delight of waking in the morning with bright ideas in his mind, hasten to commit them to paper, and count them monthly, as the means of planting such scaurs, and purchasing such VOL. IV 2 C wastes ; replacing dreams of fiction by other prospective visions of walks by Fountain heads, and pathless groves ; Places which pale passion loves.

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