Die Sprache als Kunst, Volume 2

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Verlag nicht ermittelbar, 1885 - Language and languages
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Page 296 - It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair...
Page 244 - I conjure you, by that which you profess, (Howe'er you come to know it,) answer me : Though you untie the winds, and let them fight Against the churches : though the yesty waves Confound and swallow navigation up ; Though bladed corn be lodged, and trees blown down ; Though castles topple on their warders...
Page 87 - In Lebensfluten, im Tatensturm Wall' ich auf und ab, Webe hin und her! Geburt und Grab, Ein ewiges Meer, Ein wechselnd Weben, Ein glühend Leben, So schaff' ich am sausenden Webstuhl der Zeit Und wirke der Gottheit lebendiges Kleid.
Page 104 - When shepherds pipe on oaten straws And merry larks are ploughmen's clocks, When turtles tread, and rooks, and daws, And maidens bleach their summer smocks, The cuckoo then on every tree Mocks married men; for thus sings he, Cuckoo; Cuckoo, cuckoo...
Page 105 - Und es wallet und siedet und brauset und zischt, Wie wenn Wasser mit Feuer sich mengt, Bis zum Himmel spritzet der dampfende Gischt, Und Well' auf Well' sich ohn' Ende drängt, Und wie mit des fernen Donners Getose Entstürzt es brüllend dem finstern Schoße.
Page 103 - Here's the smell of the blood still: all the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand.
Page 272 - O! coward conscience, how dost thou afflict me. The lights burn blue. It is now dead midnight. Cold fearful drops stand on my trembling flesh. What! do I fear myself? there's none else by Richard loves Richard; that is, I am I.
Page 263 - I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke, But here I am to speak what I do know. You all did love him once, not without cause ; What cause withholds you then to mourn for him ? O judgment ! thou art fled to brutish beasts, And men have lost their reason. Bear with me, My heart is in the coffin there with Caesar, And I must pause till it come back to me.
Page 240 - Flowers of all hue, and without thorn the rose : Another side, umbrageous grots and caves Of cool recess, o'er "which the mantling vine Lays forth her purple grape, and gently creeps Luxuriant; meanwhile murmuring waters fall Down the slope hills, dispersed, or in a lake, That to the fringed bank with myrtle crowned Her crystal mirror holds, unite their streams.
Page 66 - Nur der verdient sich Freiheit wie das Leben, Der täglich sie erobern muß!

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