I can't accept "our nervous age," since mankind has been nervous during every age. Whoever fears nervousness should turn into a st...urgeon or smelt; if a sturgeon makes a stupid mistake, it can only be one: to end up on a hook, and then in a pan in a pastry shell.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »
O ship white-sailed of Crete,... you brought my mistress from her quiet palace through breaker and crash of surf to love-rite of unhappiness!LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »
SWEENEY: Nothing to eat but the fruit as it grows.... Nothing to see but the palmtrees one way And the sea the other way, Nothing to hear but the sound of the surf. Nothing at all but three things DORIS: What things? SWEENEY: Birth, and copulation, and death.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »
Have you seen but a bright lily grow Before rude hands have touch'd it?... Have you mark'd but the fall of the snow Before the soil hath smutch'd it? Have you felt the wool of the beaver, Or swan's down ever? Or have smelt of the bud of the brier, Or the nard in the fire? Or have tasted the bag of the bee? O so white, O so soft, O so sweet is she!LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »
Wildness and silence disappeared from the countryside, sweetness fell from the air, not because anyone wished them to vanish or fa...ll but because throughways had to floor the meadows with cement to carry the automobiles which advancing technology produced.... Tropical beaches turned into high-priced slums where thousand-room hotels elbowed each other for glimpses of once-famous surf not because those who loved the beaches wanted them there but because enormous jets could bring a million tourists every year--and therefore did.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »
Now small fowls flew screaming over the yet yawning gulf; a sullen white surf beat against its steep sides; then all collapsed, an...d the great shroud of the sea rolled on as it rolled five thousand years ago.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »
The ideal set up by the Party was something huge, terrible, and glittering--a world of steel and concrete, of monstrous machines a...nd terrifying weapons--a nation of warriors and fanatics, marching forward in perfect unity, all thinking the same thoughts and shouting the same slogans, perpetually working, fighting, triumphing, persecuting--three hundred million people all with the same face. The reality was decaying, dingy cities, where underfed people shuffled to and fro in leaky shoes, in patched-up nineteenth-century houses that smelt always of cabbage and bad lavatories.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »