Avis des internautes - Rédiger un commentaire
Aucun commentaire n'a été trouvé aux emplacements habituels.
Academy arms artist asked beautiful better Billy Coble color course cried deacon dear don't door dream Eleanor eyes face father feel felt figure followed gave girl give gone half hand happy Harriet head heard heart Herbert hope idea It's keep knew lady laughed less light lips live London look married Matt Matt's Matthew Matthew Strang mean mind Miss mother moved Nature never night Olive once paint painter passed picture poor remember replied returned rose Rosina round seemed seen sense side smile soul stood streets talk tears tell there's things thought told took touch turned voice walked woman women wondered Wyndwood young
Page 316 - I must go, for my kinsfolk pray In the little gray church on the shore to-day. 'Twill be Easter-time in the world — ah me! And I lose my poor soul, Merman! here with thee.
Page 36 - Israel a very great congregation of men and women and children: for the people wept very sore. 2 And Shechaniah the son of Jehiel, one of the sons of Elam, answered and said unto Ezra, We have trespassed against our God, and have taken strange wives of the people of the land: yet now there is hope in Israel concerning this thing.
Page 518 - Gifts and Occupations" are in the series too and aim at the same goal. The gifts are not the truths they typify, nor those they symbolize. "Art is not truth nor beauty, but a revelation of beautiful truth thru individual vision. It is the artist's reaction to the stimulus of his universe." The gifts are not the principles to which they point, nor the thousand possible examples which they suggest ; but, as types and symbols, stand midway between these two extremes. To be convinced that, in the plan...
Page 355 - 'In the spring a fuller crimson comes upon the robin's breast.
Page 4 - ... than one's fellows, yet express the vision of one's race, its subconscious sense of beauty, is not all a covetable dower. The islands of Acadia are riddled with pits, where men have burrowed for Captain Kidd's Treasure and found nothing but holes. The deeper they delved the deeper holes they found. Whoso with blood and tears would dig Art out of his soul may lavish his golden prime in pursuit of emptiness, or, striking treasure, find only fairy gold, so that when his eye is purged of the spell...
Page 93 - How curiously people must be constituted who could knowingly prefer evil, when good thrilled one with such rapture, bathed one in such peace! Already he felt the beatitude of the New Jerusalem. The pictures he painted should be good, please God. They should exhibit the baseness of Mr. Worldly Wiseman, castigate the town of Carnal Policy; he would uplift the eyes of the wicked to the contemplation of the Shining Ones. Though, after all, he began to ask himself, could any picture equal Bunyan's book?...
Page 233 - ... it in the manager's face, when his later chastened self plucked at his coat-tails and bade him begone with it. Who so helpless as the black-and-white artist, his work poorly paid, and reproduced again and again without his control; his very originals taken from him and sometimes sold at a profit ? It was not a happy time for Matt, this period of spiritless work by day and spiritless study by night, his soul chafing alike against the degradations of life and the routine of school.
Page 250 - ... awarded every two years for the best historical painting, the subject this year being " Daniel before Nebuchadnezzar." The president pauses for a breathless instant. The ranks of black-andwhite figures standing in the background have grown rigid with excitement. The president imperturbably announces " Herbert Strang." There is a brief pause for mental digestion, then a great crash of applause — the harmonious cacophony of clapping hands, generous lungs, and frenzied feet.
Page 423 - ... him. They went out under the stars. She had taken only a light, fleecy wrap, beneath which the white shoulders were half defined, half divined. They went across the lawn and through the gate, and crunching lightly over the little pebbles, walked towards where the surf bubbled white in the grayness. All was very still, save for the eternal monotone of the sea.