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418. oldal - PENSION [an allowance made to any one without an equivalent. In England it is generally understood to mean pay given to a state hireling for treason to his country'].
428. oldal - Mr. Davies mentioned my name, and respectfully introduced me to him. I was much agitated; and recollecting his prejudice against the Scotch, of which I had heard much, I said to Davies, " Don't tell where I come from." —" From Scotland," cried Davies, roguishly. " Mr. Johnson," said I, " I do indeed come from Scotland, but I cannot help it.
186. oldal - Now o'er the one half world Nature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse The curtain'd sleep ; now witchcraft celebrates Pale Hecate's offerings ; and wither'd murder, Alarum'd by his sentinel, the wolf, Whose howl's his watch, thus with his stealthy pace, With Tarquin's ravishing strides, towards his design Moves like a ghost.
252. oldal - Whatever withdraws us from the power of our senses, whatever makes the past, the distant, or the future predominate over the present, advances us in the dignity of thinking beings.
196. oldal - Three poets in three distant ages born, Greece, Italy, and England did adorn; The first in loftiness of thought surpassed, The next in majesty; in both the last. The force of Nature could no further go, To make a third she joined the former two.
473. oldal - Ay, sir ; to be honest, as this world goes, is to be one man picked out of ten thousand. Pol. ' That's very true, my lord. Ham. For if the sun breed maggots in a dead dog, being a god kissing carrion — 'Have you a daughter ? Pol. I have, my lord. Ham. Let her not walk i' the sun : conception is a blessing ; but not as your daughter may conceive.
428. oldal - That, sir, I find, is what a very great many of your countrymen cannot help.' This stroke stunned me a good deal, and when we had sat down I felt myself not a little embarrassed and apprehensive of what might come next.
45. oldal - Tragedy/ though unrhymed, does ' lie in every deathbed, were it a peasant's, and of straw : ' ' Sunday, October 18, 1767. Yesterday, at about ten in the morning, I took my leave forever of my dear old friend, Catherine Chambers, who came to live with my mother about 1724, and has been but little parted from us since. She buried my father, my brother and my mother. She is now fifty-eight years old.