A Philosophical Inquiry Into the Source of the Pleasures Derived from Tragic Representations: From which is Deduced the Secret of Giving Dramatic Interest to Tragedies Intended for the Stage
Sherwood, Jones and Company, 1824 - 405 pàgines
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A Philosophical Inquiry Into the Source of the Pleasures Derived from Tragic ...
Visualització completa - 1824
acquainted action admit affected agreeable appear arise attention audience beautiful becomes cause character circumstances consequently continue critic curiosity delight derive describe disagreeable discover distress emotions endure energy enjoy enjoyment entirely equally evident excite existence expression fact feelings felt former frequently genius give greater happiness heart Hence human nature idea imagination imitation impart impression individual influence instance intensity interest latter laws least less look manner means mental mind moment never object observations obvious original ourselves pain particular passion perceive perception perfect person philosophers placed plea pleasing poet possess present principles produce propensity prove reason reflection regard render Representations represented resulting says scenes sense sensible sentiments sion situation sorrow soul strong sensations stronger sufferings suppose sure sympathy taste tears theory thing tion traced tragedy Tragic Pleasure true truth unless virtue weakness writer yielding
Pàgina 292 - That for some vicious mole of nature in them, As, in their birth, wherein they are not guilty, Since nature cannot choose his origin, By the o'ergrowth of some complexion, Oft breaking down the pales and forts of reason, Or by some habit that too much o'er-leavens The form of plausive manners ; that these men, Carrying, I say, the stamp of one defect, Being nature's livery, or fortune's star, Their virtues else, be they as pure as grace, As infinite as man may undergo, Shall in the general censure...
Pàgina 298 - Shakespeare is above all writers, at least above all modern writers, the poet of Nature; the poet that holds up to his readers a faithful mirror of manners and of life. His characters are not modified by the customs of particular places, unpractised by the rest of the world; by the peculiarities of studies or professions, which can operate but upon small numbers; or by the accidents of transient fashions or temporary opinions: they are the genuine progeny of common humanity, such as the world will...
Pàgina 294 - Grief fills the room up of my absent child, Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me, Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words, Remembers me of all his gracious parts, Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form; Then, have I reason to be fond of grief ? Fare you well: had you such a loss as I, I could give better comfort than you do.
Pàgina 185 - Sinks to the grave with unperceived decay, While Resignation gently slopes the way; And, all his prospects brightening to the last, His heaven commences ere the world be past.
Pàgina 288 - What though no friends in sable weeds appear, Grieve for an hour, perhaps, then mourn a year ; And bear about the mockery of woe To midnight dances, and the public show ? What though no weeping loves thy ashes grace, Nor polish'd marble emulate thy face...
Pàgina 161 - Subject, compound them, follow her and God. Love, hope, and joy, fair pleasure's smiling train, Hate, fear, and grief, the family of pain...
Pàgina 302 - The other shape — If shape it might be called that shape had none Distinguishable in member, joint or limb, Or substance might be called that shadow seemed, For each seemed either — black it stood as Night, Fierce as ten Furies, terrible as Hell, And shook a dreadful dart ; what seemed his head The likeness of a kingly crown had on.
Pàgina 76 - Oh ! he will tell thee, that the wealth of worlds Should ne'er seduce his bosom to forego That sacred hour, when, stealing from the noise Of care and envy, sweet remembrance soothes With Virtue's kindest looks his aching breast, And turns his tears to rapture.
Pàgina 134 - Is this a dagger which I see before me, The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee. I have thee not, and yet I see thee still. Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible To feeling as to sight? or art thou but A dagger of the mind, a false creation, Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain?