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"That the King and France are both sick; yes, Monsieur d'Argenton." "No, no, but that Saxe had been approached." "By Hugues or another; yes, I believe that." "You hear, Stephen? Does that satisfy you?" "But I also believe that Saxe, being a fool, has added a little on his own account," went on Villon as if Commines had never spoken. "Then what is the truth?" "You ask that of a poet?
"Why don't you feed your sick poet your own self, Betty, and not let him loose to eat up my girl?" he stormed. "Oh, Pink, how can you be so ungenerous, when you know how wonderful he is and how wonderful his play will be if you and everybody are kind and good to him while he is writing it," I chided him.
Owen Overman, the poet, met him in the general reception entrance of the Academy on the opening night, and congratulated him sincerely. "I remember seeing that in Truth," he said, "but it's much better in the original. It's fine. You ought to do a lot of those things." "I am," replied Eugene. "I expect to have a show of my own one of these days."
The Hero taken as Divinity; the Hero taken as Prophet; then next the Hero taken only as Poet: does it not look as if our estimate of the Great Man, epoch after epoch, were continually diminishing?
Gentlemen, if I could express the pleasure it gives me to see three such men in a happy unity of feeling and concord of sentiment, I think you would hardly believe me. But though I am unfortunate nay, gentlemen, criminal, if we are to use harsh expressions in a company like this still, I have my feelings like other men. I have heard of a poet, who remarked that feelings were the common lot of all.
He had the courage without the ferocity of enthusiasm, and in the cause of the Bible Society he saw and did things which little concerned it, which in fact displeased it, but keep this book alive with a great stir and shout of life, with a hundred pages where we are shown what the poet meant by "forms more real than living men." We are shown the unrighteous to the very life.
As the poet says: "Talk about your troubles, Talk about your woes, Yours are only bubbles, Sir, compared with those. "At the end of two weeks I was nearly frantic. I don't think I could have stood it another week but fortunately at the end of the month back came the Fairy again. "'How do you like being an eagle? she said.
They were a List of Words that rhyme to one another, drawn up by another Hand, and given to a Poet, who was to make a Poem to the Rhymes in the same Order that they were placed upon the List: The more uncommon the Rhymes were, the more extraordinary was the Genius of the Poet that could accommodate his Verses to them.
A pantheist, withal a poet and a direct descendant in the line of Watteau, Boucher, Monticelli, with an individual touch of mundane grace and elegance. Mme. Charpentier it was who cleverly engineered the portrait of herself and children and the portrait of Jeanne Samary into the 1879 Salon. The authorities did not dare to refuse two such distinguished women. Renoir's prospects became brighter.
He was a kind of successor to Thomas the Rhymer, and perhaps might be Thomas himself returned from fairy land, but still under fairy spell. Some accident turned the conversation upon Hogg, the poet, in which Laidlaw, who was seated beside us, took a part.
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