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So Gluck, obedient, drank his chocolate, and ate his biscuit and partridge-wing in silence. All at once, the comfortable stillness was broken by a loud ringing of the door-bell, and a servant announced Signor Calzabigi. Gluck darted off from the table, but Marianne, laughing, brought him back again. "First, your glass of Lacrimae Christi," said she.
No one but a brute who is also something of a fool will think any the worse of Keats for writing them. A thought of sunt lacrimae rerum is all the price that need be paid by any one who chooses to read them, nor is it our business to characterise at length the taste and wits of the person who could publish them.
I have elsewhere remarked that the conceit in the following stanza resembles a thought in some verses of Angerianus: And thou, stony grot, in thy arch may'st preserve Two lingering drops of the night-fallen dew, Let them fall on her bosom of snow, and they'll serve As tears of my sorrow entrusted to you. At quum per niveam cervicem influxerit humor Dicite non roris sed pluvia haec lacrimae.
For her part she, we discover as he does, had long known his story, and in her admiration for his people had chosen the deeds of Trojan heroes for representation upon the temple doors: Sunt lacrimae rerum.
There is certainly a satisfaction in the direct radiance of a hickory fire which is not to be found in the fieriest blasts of a furnace. The hot air of a furnace is a sirocco; the heat of a wood-fire is only intense sunshine, like that bottled in Lacrimae Christi.
Far be it from us to take part in a game which if it does not always, like the unpleasant personage in the old ballad, Come for ill and never for good, certainly comes for the former much oftener than for the latter purpose and result. Sunt lacrimae rerum is once more and as so often the best and the sufficient observation.
I have found lacrimae rerum in Italy as elsewhere; and sometimes Life has seemed to me to sail as near to tragedy as Art can do. I suppose I must be a very bad Christian, for I remain sturdily an optimist, still convinced that it is good for us to be here, while the sun is up.
They had hustled her and frightened her, for one thing; and her cousin's thoughtlessness, in not even telling his servant they were coming, was cruel; and the servant's caution, however wise and faithful to her master, was bitterly mortifying to her father and her. And to her so mortified, and anxious and jostled, came suddenly this kind hand and face. "Hinc illae lacrimae."
"Oh, but Angus, my dear he's the FLAUTIST. Don't you remember? The divine bit of Scriabin. At least I believe it was Scriabin. But PERFECTLY DIVINE!!! I adore the flute above all things " And Francis placed his hand on Angus' arm, and rolled his eyes Lay this to the credit of a bottle of Lacrimae Cristi, if you like. "Yes.
With the most innocent intentions I reposed my confidence in a cowardly fellow, who sold it to Manucci for a hundred pistoles. In his irritation, Manucci has stirred up the great man against me: 'hinc illae lacrimae'." "You have been unwise, but what is done is done. I am sorry for you, because there is an end to all your hopes of advancement.
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