Date: 1852
"Give me thy hand, and hush awhile, / And turn those limpid eyes on mine, / And let me read there, love! thy inmost soul."
preview | full record— Arnold, Matthew (1822-1888)
Date: 1852
"Alas! is even love too weak / To unlock the heart, and let it speak?"
preview | full record— Arnold, Matthew (1822-1888)
Date: 1852
"Ah! well for us, if even we, / Even for a moment, can get free / Our heart, and have our lips unchain'd; / For that which seals them hath been deep-ordain'd!"
preview | full record— Arnold, Matthew (1822-1888)
Date: 1852
"Yet still, from time to time, vague and forlorn, / From the soul's subterranean depth upborne / As from an infinitely distant land, / Come airs, and floating echoes, and convey / A melancholy into all our day."
preview | full record— Arnold, Matthew (1822-1888)
Date: 1852
"A bolt is shot back somewhere in our breast, / And a lost pulse of feeling stirs again."
preview | full record— Arnold, Matthew (1822-1888)
Date: Date Unknown
It is difficult for a "powerful mind" to be its own master: "a lake wants mountains to compass and hold it in."
preview | full record— Addison, Joseph (1672-1719)
Date: 1854
"Let it [caelestïal Sweetness] not stop when entred at the Ear / But sink, and take deep rooting in my heart."
preview | full record— Pope, Alexander (1688-1744)
Date: 1854
"The emphasis was helped by the speaker's hair, which bristled on the skirts of his bald head, a plantation of firs to keep the wind from its shining surface, all covered with knobs, like the crust of a plum pie, as if the head had scarcely warehouse-room for the hard facts stored inside."
preview | full record— Dickens, Charles (1812-1870)
Date: 1854
"When from thy boiling store, thou shalt fill each jar brim full by and by, dost thou think that thou wilt always kill outright the robber Fancy lurking within--or sometimes only maim him and distort him!"
preview | full record— Dickens, Charles (1812-1870)
Date: 1854
"There was an air of jaded sullenness in them both, and particularly in the girl: yet, struggling through the dissatisfaction of her face, there was a light with nothing to rest upon, a fire with nothing to burn, a starved imagination keeping life in itself somehow, which brightened its expression."
preview | full record— Dickens, Charles (1812-1870)