Biographia Epistolaris: Being the Biographical Supplement of Coleridge's Biographia Literaria; with Additional Letters, Etc, Volume 1

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G. Bell and sons, Limited, 1911

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Pagina 12 - And hungered after Nature, many a year, In the great City pent, winning thy way With sad yet patient soul, through evil and pain And strange calamity!
Pagina 12 - I was a poor friendless boy. My parents, and those who should care for me, were far away. Those few acquaintances of theirs, which they could reckon upon being kind to me in the great city, after a little forced notice, which they had the grace to take of me on my first arrival in town, soon grew tired of my holiday visits.
Pagina 85 - And for myself, I could not have been more delighted if I had heard the music of the spheres. Poetry and Philosophy had met together. Truth and Genius had embraced, under the eye and with the sanction of Religion.
Pagina 8 - Those who have been led to the same truths step by step, through the constant testimony of their senses, seem to me to want a sense which I possess. They contemplate nothing but parts, and all parts are necessarily little, and the universe to them is but a mass of little things.
Pagina 82 - Could I revive within me Her symphony and song, To such a deep delight 'twould win me, 45 That with music loud and long, I would build that dome in air, That sunny dome!
Pagina 12 - I sometimes," he writes in a letter, " compare my own life with that of Steele (yet O ! how unlike !) — led to this from having myself also for a brief time borne arms, and written ' private' after my name, or rather another name ; for, being at a loss when suddenly asked my name, I answered Cumberback, and verily my habits were so little equestrian, that my horse, I doubt not, was of that opinion.
Pagina 8 - I have known some who have been rationally educated, as it is styled. They were marked by a microscopic acuteness, but when they looked at great things, all became a blank and they saw nothing, and denied (very illogically) that...
Pagina 4 - Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John, Bless the bed that I lie on. Four corners to my bed, Four angels round my head; One to watch and one to pray And two to bear my soul away.
Pagina 179 - The Poet is dead in me — my imagination (or rather the Somewhat that had been imaginative) lies, like a Cold Snuff on the circular Rim of a Brass Candle-stick, without even a stink of Tallow to remind you that it was once cloathed & mitred with Flame.
Pagina 158 - I would endeavour to destroy the old antithesis of Words and Things; elevating, as it were, Words into Things and living things too.

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