Oxford, Painted by John Fulleylove, R.I.

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A. & C. Black, 1903 - 264 pāgines
 

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Pāgina 260 - And yet, steeped in sentiment as she lies, spreading PREFACE. xi her gardens to the moonlight, and whispering from her towers the last enchantments of the Middle Age, who will deny that Oxford, by her ineffable charm, keeps ever calling us nearer to the true goal of all of us, to the ideal, to perfection...
Pāgina 15 - Bind me, ye woodbines, in your 'twines. Curl me about, ye gadding vines; And oh so close your circles lace. That I may never leave this place; But, lest your fetters prove too weak, Ere I your silken bondage break, Do you, O brambles, chain me too. And, courteous briars, nail me through!
Pāgina 33 - The corn was orient and immortal wheat, which never should be reaped, nor was ever sown. I thought it had stood from everlasting to everlasting. The dust and stones of the street were as precious as gold : the gates were at first the end of the world.
Pāgina 184 - I gave my heart to know wisdom, and to know madness and folly: I perceived that this also is vexation of spirit. For in much wisdom is much grief: and he that increaseth knowledge increaseth sorrow.
Pāgina 104 - From quiet homes and first beginning, Out to the undiscovered ends, There's nothing worth the wear of winning, But laughter and the love of friends.
Pāgina 184 - With spectacles on nose and pouch on side, His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide For his shrunk shank ; and his big manly voice, Turning again toward childish treble, pipes And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all, That ends this strange eventful history, Is second childishness and mere oblivion, Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.
Pāgina 256 - I no sooner (saith he) come into the library, but I bolt the door to me, excluding lust, ambition, avarice, and all such vices, whose nurse is idleness, the mother of ignorance, and melancholy herself, and in the very lap of eternity, amongst so many divine souls, I take my seat, with so lofty a spirit and sweet content, that I pity all our great ones, and rich men that know not this happiness.
Pāgina 184 - Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel, Seeking the bubble reputation Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice...
Pāgina 15 - How safe, methinks, and strong, behind These Trees have I incamp'd my Mind ; Where Beauty, aiming at the Heart, Bends in some Tree its useless Dart ; And where the World no certain Shot Can make, or me it toucheth not. But I on it securely play, And gaul its Horsemen all the Day. LXXVII. Bind me ye Woodbines in your 'twines, Curie me about ye gadding Vines, And Oh so close your Circles lace, That I may never leave this Place...
Pāgina 33 - How safely we lay bare the poverty of human ignorance to books without feeling any shame! They are masters who instruct us without rod or ferule, without angry words, without clothes or money. If you come to them they are not asleep; if you ask and inquire of them, they do not withdraw themselves; they do not chide if you make mistakes; they do not laugh at you if you are ignorant.

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