The Bookman: A Review of Books and Life, Volume 56Dodd, Mead and Company, 1923 |
Contents
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Common terms and phrases
artist asked beauty BOOKMAN Booth Tarkington called Carl Van Doren character charm club color copy course critic delightful drama edition editor Emile Coué England English essays eyes fact feel fiction France French George girl give hand heart Henry Heywood Broun Hugh Walpole human humor interest Joseph Hergesheimer lady letters lish literary literature living look Lytton Strachey magazine Margaret Widdemer Mary Roberts Rinehart ment mind Miss modern never novel novelist perhaps person photoplay picture play poems poet poetry published reader romance seems Sherwood Anderson short story Sinclair Lewis soul Street style talk tell theatre thing thought TINY TIM tion told ture turn verse volume Willa Cather William Gropper woman women words writing written wrote York young
Popular passages
Page 200 - THE ALTAR. A BROKEN altar, Lord, Thy servant rears, Made of a heart, and cemented with tears : Whose parts are as Thy hand did frame ; No workman's tool hath touch'd the same. A Heart alone Is such a stone, As nothing but Thy power doth cut. Wherefore each part Of my hard heart Meets in this frame, To praise Thy name : That, if I chance to hold my peace, These stones to praise Thee may not cease.
Page 272 - My candle burns at both ends; It will not last the night; But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends — It gives a lovely light!
Page 282 - He'd think she didn't know! Where is his mother? He can't be out alone." And now he comes again with a clatter of stone And mounts the wall again with whited eyes And all his tail that isn't hair up straight. He shudders his coat as if to throw off flies. "Whoever it is that leaves him out so late, When other creatures have gone to stall and bin, Ought to be told to come and take him in.
Page 261 - The shoemaker singing as he sits on his bench, the hatter singing as he stands, The wood-cutter's song, the ploughboy's on his way in the morning, or at noon intermission or at sundown, The delicious singing of the mother, or of the young wife at work, or of the girl sewing or washing, - Each singing what belongs to him or her and to none else...
Page 258 - It is therefore our business carefully to cultivate in our minds, to rear to the most perfect vigor and maturity, every sort of generous and honest feeling, that belongs to our nature. To bring the dispositions that are lovely in private life into the service and conduct of the commonwealth; so to be patriots, as not to forget we are gentlemen.
Page 601 - A book which the great Goethe thought worthy of translating into German with the pen of Faust and Wilhelm Meister, a book which Auguste Comte placed upon his very limited list for the perusal of reformed humanity, is one with which we have the right to be occupied, not once or twice, but over and over again. It cannot lose its freshness. What attracted the encyclopaedic minds of men so different as Comte and Goethe...
Page 261 - I ask not for the great, the remote, the romantic; what is doing in Italy or Arabia; what is Greek art, or Provengal minstrelsy; I embrace the common, I explore and sit at the feet of the familiar, the low.
Page 260 - Hundreds of writers may be found in every longcivilized nation, who for a short time believe, and make others believe, that they see and utter truths, who do not of themselves clothe one thought in its natural garment, but who feed unconsciously upon the language created by the primary writers of the country, those, namely, who hold primarily on Nature.
Page 581 - I have a presentiment that I shall never see you again. I must leave to-day for Richmond. If I never return, write my life, you can and will do me justice.
Page 261 - I have a great deal of company in my house ; especially in the morning, when nobody calls. Let me suggest a few comparisons, that some one may convey an idea of my situation. I am no more lonely than the loon in the pond that laughs so loud, or than Walden Pond itself. What company has that lonely lake, I pray ? And yet it has not the blue devils, but the blue angels in it, in the azure tint of its waters.