work_id,theme,provenance,created_at,text,reviewed_on,id,comments,metaphor,dictionary,updated_at,context
3979,"","Reading Felicity Nussbaum's The Limits of the Human (New York and Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 2003), p. 29.",2006-12-18 00:00:00 UTC,"Maria had newly risen, and with her Night-gown only thrown loose about her, had look'd out of the Window, just as her Father and Dangerfield were approaching the Gate, at the same Instant she cast her Eyes upon Dangerfield, and he accidentally look'd up to the Window where she stood, their Surprize was mutual, but that of Dangerfield the greater; he saw such an amazing Sight of Beauty, as made him doubt the Reality of the Object, or distrust the Perfection of his Sight; he saw his dear Lady, who had so captivated him the preceeding Day, he saw her in all the heightning Circumstances of her Charms, he saw her in all her native Beauties, free from the Incumbrance of Dress, her Hair as black as Ebony, hung flowing in careless Curls over her Shoulders, it hung link'd in amorous Twinings, as if in Love with its own Beauties; her Eyes not yet freed from the Dullness of the late Sleep, cast a languishing Pleasure in their Aspect, which heaviness of Sight added the greatest Beauties to those Suns, because under the Shade of such a Cloud, their Lustre cou'd only be view'd; the lambent Drowsiness that play'd upon her Face, seem'd like a thin Veil not to hide, but to heighten the Beauty which it cover'd; her Night-gown hanging loose, discover'd her charming Bosom, which cou'd bear no Name, but Transport, Wonder and Extasy, all which struck his Soul, as soon as the Object hit his Eye; her Breasts with an easy Heaving, show'd the Smoothness of her Soul and of her Skin; their Motions were so languishingly soft, that they cou'd not be said to rise and fall, but rather to swell up towards Love, the Heat of which seem'd to melt them down again; some scatter'd jetty Hairs, which hung confus'dly over her Breasts, made her Bosom show like Venus caught in Vulcan's Net, but 'twas the Spectator, not she, was captivated. This Dangerfield saw, and all this at once, and with Eyes that were adapted by a preparatory Potion; what must then his Condition be? He was stricken with such Amazement, that he was forced to Support himself, by leaning on Rinaldo's Arm, who started at his sudden Indisposition. ‘I'm afraid, Sir, (said he) you have received some Wound in the Duel.' ‘Oh! Sir, (said he) I am mortally wounded'; but recollecting himself after a little Pause, ‘now I am better.' Rinaldo wou'd have sent for a Surgeon to have it searched. ‘Your pardon, Sir, (said Dangerfield) my Indisposition proceeds from an inward Malady, not by a Sword, but like those made by Achilles's Spear, nothing can cure, but what gave the Wound.' Rinaldo guessing at the Distemper, but not the Cause of it, out of good Manners declined any further enquiry, but conducting him in, entertained him with all the Courtesy imaginable; but in half a Hour, a Messenger came from the Senate, requiring his immediate Attendance; he lying under an indispensable Necessity of making his personal Appearance, begg'd Dangerfield's Pardon, intreating him to stay, and command his House till his return, and conducting him to a fine Library, said he might there find Entertainment, if he were addicted to Study; adding withal, as a farther Engagement of his Patience, that he should meet the Admiral at the Senate, whom he wou'd bring home as an Addition to their Company at Dinner. Dangerfield needed none of these Motives to stay, being detained by a secret Inclination to the Place; walking therefore into the Library, Rinaldo went to the Senate. Dangerfield when alone, fell into deep Ruminating on his strange Condition, he knew himself in the House, with one of his dear Charmers, but durst not hope to see her, which added to his Torment; like Tantalus remov'd the farther from Happiness, by being nearer to it, contemplated so far on the Beauties of that dear Creature, that he concluded, if her Wit were like that of his t'other Mistress, he wou'd endeavour to confine his Passion wholly to that Object.
(pp. 432-4)",2011-06-16,10338,"INTEREST: crazy passage. Worthwile writing about in terms of mind/body dualism. Here the breast (one of my keywords)--or rather, breasts?--is yoked, in zeugma, to the soul","""Her Night-gown hanging loose, discover'd her charming Bosom, which cou'd bear no Name, but Transport, Wonder and Extasy, all which struck his Soul, as soon as the Object hit his Eye; her Breasts with an easy Heaving, show'd the Smoothness of her Soul and of her Skin; their Motions were so languishingly soft, that they cou'd not be said to rise and fall, but rather to swell up towards Love, the Heat of which seem'd to melt them down again; some scatter'd jetty Hairs, which hung confus'dly over her Breasts, made her Bosom show like Venus caught in Vulcan's Net, but 'twas the Spectator, not she, was captivated.""","",2014-07-11 19:22:10 UTC,""
7476,"",C-H Lion,2013-06-18 21:23:43 UTC,"If a Man has not power over his own Life, over what has he any?--Nay, 'Tis plain, and allow'd by all, that he gives this Power away, which he cou'd never do, if he never had it, when he enters into civil Society, or forms any Government and submits himself thereto--and grant but that, how can it be unjust to throw that away which is better lost than kept? Does any one think it cruel, inhumane or wicked to cut off a Leg or an Arm when 'tis Gangreen'd or Mortify'd, when 'tis painful or dangerous, or useless?--My Body is no better than the Legs, and Arms, or rather Crutches of my Soul--Why shou'd it be a Crime to throw those Crutches away and go alone, especially when they are troublesom or rotten? Can it be a Fault to chuse a better for a worse, and don't all the thinking World agree that this state we are now in, is but a Slavery to sence, a bondage to dull matter, which tedders us down like our Brother Brutes, where we are not only exposed to want and misery, but to all the Insults and Abuses possible to be inferr'd, and impossible to be avoided. Why then shou'd I not pull up the stake, or get my Lock and Chain off, and scamper away in the interminable Fields of the invisible World.--That Region of Spirits, Reason, Ease, and Rest--Cleombrotus, Empedocles--O how I envy you--who one rusht through the Fire, t'other through the Water to reach Immortality o' t'other side on't. Those were envious Fools who fault the Sicilian Philosopher for plunging into Ætna, pretending he only did it for vain Glory to be accounted a God--No--'twas not that he might be so accounted, but so be--at least as like one as possible--Impassible, immaterial, and wear out endless Durations as those above,
In undisturb'd and Everlasting Ease.
(I, pp. 136-7)",,20968,"","""Can it be a Fault to chuse a better for a worse, and don't all the thinking World agree that this state we are now in, is but a Slavery to sence, a bondage to dull matter, which tedders us down like our Brother Brutes, where we are not only exposed to want and misery, but to all the Insults and Abuses possible to be inferr'd, and impossible to be avoided.""",Fetters,2013-06-18 21:23:43 UTC,""
7476,"",C-H Lion,2013-06-19 01:21:40 UTC,"And then for Prose-Love--I believe I went as far as any Man,--stabbing, dying, groaning, hanging I made nothing of, 'twas my daily Employment and Recreation, and I cou'd at last eat Knives or Rats bane as fast as a Jugler. I grew careless toward any thing else; I could neither see, hear, taste, smell, nor understand any thing in the world but what related to my charming Rachelia (as I call'd her) with a little more Heroick turn than plain Rachel. And shou'd an Evangelist, with an Angel at his Elbow, have told me that Goddess of my Soul had so much as one speck of Deformity, one single Mole, either in Body or Mind, I shou'd have said--By your leave, Mr. Evangelist,--I must suspend my Faith.--Thus much wou'd I have said to his Face out of civility, but behind his back no more have valu'd his Testimony than the Alcoran.--No--my purest pure had such a Soul, it shin'd through her Body, and such a Body, you might see her Soul through't. Which some may think much at one, but however there's a different conception in't, and it makes one line more to fill out the Book.
(II.viii, p. 91)",,20979,"","""And shou'd an Evangelist, with an Angel at his Elbow, have told me that Goddess of my Soul had so much as one speck of Deformity, one single Mole, either in Body or Mind, I shou'd have said--By your leave, Mr. Evangelist,--I must suspend my Faith.""","",2013-06-19 01:21:40 UTC,""
7539,"",C-H Lion,2013-07-11 18:24:21 UTC,"But I find nothing will be lost. There sits a Gentleman in the corner of a quite different Temper, who takes every thing upon himself, that was meant to another. He Blushes, he grows Pale, he's out of Countenance; at last quits the Room, and as he goes out, threatens all the Company with his Eyes. What does the World think of this holding up the Buckler, they put but a bad Construction upon it, and say that his Conscience is Ulcerated, that you cannot touch any String, but it will answer to some painful place. Touch a Gall'd Horse and He'll Wince. In a word, he's wounded all over, because he's all over Sensible of Pain.
(pp. 153-4)",,21657,"","""What does the World think of this holding up the Buckler, they put but a bad Construction upon it, and say that his Conscience is Ulcerated, that you cannot touch any String, but it will answer to some painful place.""","",2013-07-11 18:24:21 UTC,""