A Sentimental Journey through France and ItalyXist Publishing, 16.09.2015 - 167 Seiten The Birth of Travel Writing “Dear sensibility! Source inexhausted of all that's precious in our joys, or costly in our sorrows! Eternal fountain of our feelings! 'tis here I trace thee and this is thy divinity which stirs within me...All comes from thee, great-great SENSORIUM of the world!” - Laurence Sterne, A Sentimental Journey Parson Yorick is an English traveler who doesn’t know much about plots and how to write proper novels. He knows many things however about human character. So he decides to write his impressions and adventures during his travels in France and Italy. No plot, just his encounters with many different men and women. Xist Publishing is a digital-first publisher. Xist Publishing creates books for the touchscreen generation and is dedicated to helping everyone develop a lifetime love of reading, no matter what form it takes |
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... close up to him, he introduced himself with the little story of the wants of his convent, and the poverty of his order;—and did it with so simple a grace,—and such an air of deprecation was there in the whole cast of his look and figure ...
... learning,—where the sciences may be more fitly woo'd, or more surely won, than here,—where art is encouraged, and will so soon rise high,—where Nature (take her altogether) has so little to answer for,—and, to close all, where.
Laurence Sterne. has so little to answer for,—and, to close all, where there is more wit and variety of character to feed the mind with:— Where then, my dear countrymen, are you going?— We are only looking at this chaise, said they.—Your ...
... close conference with a lady just arrived at the inn—I told him the truth,—but I did not tell him the whole truth; for I was as full as much restrained by the appearance and figure of the lady he was talking to. Suspicion crossed my ...
... close beside my elbow till midnight, I should have held true to my system, and considered her only under that general idea. She had scarce got twenty paces distant from me, ere something within me called out for a more particular ...