Ruskin's Principles of Art Criticism

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H.S. Stone, 1901 - 457 Seiten
 

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Seite 240 - So fair, so sweet, withal so sensitive, Would that the little Flowers were born to live, Conscious of half the pleasure which they give ; That to this mountain-daisy's self were known The beauty of its star-shaped shadow, thrown On the smooth surface of this naked stone...
Seite 359 - There is not wind enough to twirl The one red leaf, the last of its clan, That dances as often as dance it can, Hanging so light, and hanging so high, On the topmost twig that looks up at the sky.
Seite 293 - Taste is not only a part and an index of morality — it is the ONLY morality. The first, and last, and closest trial question to any living creature is, "What do you like?" Tell me what you like, and I'll tell you what you are.
Seite 407 - She riseth also while it is yet night and giveth meat to her household, and a portion to her maidens.
Seite 425 - We have much studied and much perfected, of late, the great civilized invention of the division of labour; only we give it a false name. It is not, truly speaking, the labour that is divided; but the men: — Divided into mere segments of men — broken into small fragments and crumbs of life...
Seite 361 - He listen'd, and he wept, and his bright tears Went trickling, down the golden bow he held. Thus with half-shut suffused eyes he stood, While from beneath some cumbrous boughs hard by With solemn step an awful Goddess came, And there was purport in her looks for him, Which he with eager guess began to read Perplex'd, the while melodiously he said: "How cam'st thou over the unfooted sea?
Seite 394 - Ten of them were sheathed in steel, With belted sword, and spur on heel : They quitted not their harness bright Neither by day nor yet by night • They lay down to rest, With corslet laced, Pillowed on buckler cold and hard ; They carved at the meal With gloves of steel, And they drank the red wine through the helmet barred.
Seite 434 - And in all things that live there are certain irregularities and deficiencies which are not only signs of life, but sources of beauty. No human face is exactly the same in its lines on each side, no leaf perfect in its lobes, no branch in its symmetry. All admit irregularity as they imply change; and to banish imperfection is to destroy expression, to check exertion, to paralyze vitality. All things are literally better, lovelier, and more beloved for the imperfections which have been divinely appointed,...
Seite 358 - Dee." They rowed her in across the rolling foam, The cruel crawling foam, The cruel hungry foam, To her grave beside the sea: But still the boatmen hear her call the cattle home Across the sands of Dee.
Seite 313 - As I myself look at it, there is no fault nor folly of my life, — and both have been many and great, — that does not rise up against me, and take away my joy, and shorten my power of possession, of sight, of understanding. And every past effort of my life, every gleam of tightness or good in it, is with me now, to help me in my grasp of this art, and its vision.

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