The Bookman, Volumen50Dodd, Mead and Company, 1920 |
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American Arrow of Gold artist beauty BOOKMAN Brand Whitlock called character charm Christmas Christopher and Columbus color course critic Daisy Ashford delightful Dickens Doran Company drama edition editor England English essay eyes fact feel fiction France French George George Eliot girl give hand Harold Bell Wright heart Henry Adams HOUGHTON MIFFLIN human humor imagination interest Jane Austen John Joseph Hergesheimer Joyce Kilmer Keyes letters lished literary literature live London look Lord Dunsany magazine ment mind Miss nature ness never novel novelist patriotism perhaps play poems poet poetry present printed published reader romance seems sense soul spirit story tell theatre thing thought tion translation ture verse Vicente Blasco Ibáñez volume woman wonder words write written wrote York
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Página 28 - it is only a novel! " replies the young lady ; while she lays down her book with affected indifference, or momentary shame. " It is only Cecilia, or Camilla, or Belinda; " or, in short, only some work in which the greatest powers of the mind are displayed, in which the most thorough knowledge of human nature, the happiest delineation of its varieties, the liveliest effusions of wit and humour, are conveyed to the world in the best chosen language.
Página 28 - Let us not desert one another; we are an injured body. Although our productions have afforded more extensive and unaffected pleasure than those of any other literary corporation in the world, no species of composition has been so much decried. From pride, ignorance, or fashion, our foes are almost as many as our readers; and while the abilities of the nine-hundredth abridger of the History of England...
Página 28 - Sterne, are eulogized by a thousand pens, - there seems almost a general wish of decrying the capacity and undervaluing the labour of the novelist, and of slighting the performances which have only genius, wit, and taste to recommend them. "I am no novel reader - I seldom look into novels - Do not imagine that I often read novels - It is really very well for a novel.
Página 470 - Now of time they are much more liberal. For ordinary it is that two young princes fall in love; after many traverses she is got with child, delivered of a fair boy, he is lost, groweth a man, falleth in love, and is ready to get another child, — and all this in two hours...
Página 234 - ... never die, and with it the grandest of all sepulchres, not that in which their mortal bones are laid, but a home in the minds of men, where their glory remains fresh to stir to speech or action as the occasion comes by. For the whole earth is the sepulchre of famous men ; and their story is not graven only on stone over their native earth, but lives on far away, without visible symbol, woven into the stuff of other men's lives.
Página 5 - Dreams, books, are each a world ; and books, we know, Are a substantial world, both pure and good : Round these, with tendrils strong as flesh and blood, Our pastime and our happiness will grow.
Página 302 - Many a man lives a burden to the earth ; but a good book is the precious life blood of a master spirit, embalmed and treasured up on purpose to a life beyond life...
Página 288 - As for TINY TIM, there is a certain passage in the book regarding that young gentleman, about which a man should hardly venture to speak in print or in public, any more than he would of any other affections of his private heart. There is not a reader in England but that little creature will be a bond of union between the author and him ; and he will say of Charles Dickens, as the woman just now,
Página 576 - Whose voice then shook the earth : but now he hath promised, saying, Yet once more I shake not the earth only, but also heaven. And this word, Yet once more, signifieth the removing of those things that are shaken, as of things that are made, that those things which cannot be shaken may remain.
Página 28 - I will not adopt that ungenerous and impolitic custom so common with novel writers, of degrading by their contemptuous censure the very performances, to the number of which they are themselves adding—joining with their greatest enemies in bestowing the harshest epithets on such works, and scarcely ever permitting them to be read by their own heroine, who, if she accidentally take up a novel, is sure to turn over its insipid pages with disgust.