Works of Samuel Richardson: The history of Clarissa Harlowe

Voorkant
H. Sotheran, 1883

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Populaire passages

Pagina 438 - OH THAT I were as in months past, as in the days when God preserved me; When his candle shined upon my head, and when by his light I walked through darkness...
Pagina 455 - When I lie down, I say, When shall I arise, and the night be gone ? And I am full of tossings to and fro unto the dawning of the day. My flesh is clothed with worms and clods of dust ; My skin is broken, and become loathsome. My days are swifter than a weaver's shuttle, And are spent without hope.
Pagina 493 - Ay, but to die, and go we know not where ; To lie in cold obstruction, and to rot ; This sensible warm motion to become A kneaded clod...
Pagina 493 - tis too horrible ! The weariest and most loathed worldly life, ^ That age, ache, penury, and imprisonment Can lay on nature, is a paradise To what we fear of death.
Pagina 444 - For I know that thou wilt bring me to death, and to the house appointed for all living.
Pagina 438 - As I was in the days of my youth, when the secret of God was upon my tabernacle; When the Almighty was yet with me, when my children were about me; When I washed my steps with butter, and the rock poured me out rivers of oil...
Pagina 455 - For the thing which I greatly feared is come upon me, And that which I was afraid of is come unto me. I was not in safety, neither had I rest, neither was I quiet ; Yet trouble came.
Pagina 516 - If I justify myself, mine own mouth shall condemn me: If I say, "I am perfect," it shall also prove me perverse.
Pagina 348 - A horrid hole of a house, in an alley they call a court; stairs wretchedly narrow, even to the first-floor room : and into a den they led me, with broken walls, which had been papered, as I saw by a multitude of tacks, and some torn bits held on by the rusty heads. The floor indeed was clean, but the ceiling was smoked with variety of figures, and initials of names, that had been the...
Pagina 349 - An old half-barred stove grate was in the chimney; and in that a large stone bottle without a neck, filled with baleful yew, as an ever-green, withered southernwood, dead sweet-briar, and sprigs of rue in flower. To finish the shocking description, in a dark nook stood an old broken-bottomed cane couch, without a squab, or coverlid, sunk at one corner, and unmortised by the failing of one of its worm-eaten legs, which lay in two pieces under the wretched piece of furniture it could no longer support.

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