Henry D. Thoreau

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Houghton, Mifflin, 1882 - 324 oldal

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315. oldal - Flattered to tears this aged man and poor; But no — already had his death-bell rung; The joys of all his life were said and sung; His was harsh penance on St. Agnes...
147. oldal - This is a good man ; here is nothing for me;" but when his master came to the prayer of the publican, " God be merciful to me a sinner...
129. oldal - They say there is a young lady in New Haven who is beloved of that great Being who made and rules the world, and that there are certain seasons in which this great Being, in some way or other invisible, comes to her and fills her mind with exceeding sweet delight...
182. oldal - Together both, ere the high lawns appeared Under the opening eyelids of the morn...
209. oldal - Hollowell farm, to me, were ; its complete retirement, being about two miles from the village, half a mile from the nearest neighbor, and separated from the highway by a broad field ; its bounding on the river, which the owner said protected it by its fogs from frosts...
252. oldal - It was a pleasure and a privilege to walk with him. He knew the country like a fox or a bird, and passed through it as freely by paths of his own.
32. oldal - Turn, Fortune, turn thy wheel with smile or frown; With that wild wheel we go not up or down ; Our hoard is little, but our hearts are great. ' Smile and we smile, the lords of many lands; Frown and we smile, the lords of our own hands; For man is man and master of his fate.
213. oldal - I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.
290. oldal - The laborer's day ends with the going down of the sun, and he is then free to devote himself to his chosen pursuit, independent of his labor; but his employer, who speculates from month to month, has no respite from one end of the year to the other.
165. oldal - And what avails it now that we are wise, If absence doth this doubleness contrive? Eternity may not the chance repeat, But I must tread my single way alone, In sad remembrance that we once did meet, And know that bliss irrevocably gone.

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