Egoists, a Book of Supermen: Stendahl, Baudelaire, Flaubert, Anatole France, Huysmans, Barrès, Nietzsche, Blake, Ibsen, Stirner, and Ernest Hello

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C. Scribner's sons, 1921 - 372 páginas
 

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Página 92 - AH, did you once see Shelley plain, And did he stop and speak to you And did you speak to him again ? How strange it seems and new...
Página 353 - Liberty is not a means to a higher political end. It is itself the highest political end.
Página 275 - Dare its deadly terrors clasp? When the stars threw down their spears, And watered heaven with their tears, Did He smile His work to see? Did He who made the lamb make thee?
Página 275 - Why, so can I ; or so can any man : But will they come, when you do call for them ? Glend.
Página 235 - I think a ploughman who sows, reads his almanack, and believes the stars but so many farthing candles, created to prevent his falling into a ditch as he goes home at night, a wiser and more rational being, and I am sure an honester than any of them. Oh! I am sick of visions and systems, that shove one another aside, and come over again, like the figures in a moving picture.
Página 357 - Is it not the chief disgrace in the world not to be an unit, not to be reckoned one character — - not to yield that peculiar fruit which each man was created to bear, but to be reckoned in the gross, in the hundred, or the thousand, of the party, the section, to which we belong; and our opinion predicted geographically, as the north, or the south?
Página 88 - But are there no solitudes out of the cave and the desert? or cannot the heart in the midst of crowds feel frightfully alone?
Página 79 - I SEND you here a sort of allegory, (For you will understand it) of a soul, A sinful soul possess'd of many gifts, A spacious garden full of flowering weeds, A glorious Devil, large in heart and brain, That did love Beauty only, (Beauty seen In all varieties of mould and mind) And Knowledge for its beauty ; or if Good, Good only for its beauty...
Página 71 - I love Wagner; but the music I prefer is that of a cat hung up by his tail outside of a window, and trying to stick to the panes of glass with its claws. There is an odd grating on the glass which I find at the same time strange, irritating, and singularly harmonious.
Página 277 - a strange, strange boy, exquisitely wild, an utter visionary, like the moon among thin clouds he moves in a circle of his own making. He alone is a light of his own. Of all human beings I never saw one so utterly naked of self.

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