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Updated: May 2, 2025
It requires the mysterious power of night and other conditions to secure a glamour; and so you must look for the baldest prose to-day." "Indeed, Graham, we scarcely know what to expect from you any more," Hilland remarked.
That confounded terrier, whose voice so clearly proclaimed his breed, had dragged us down to the baldest realism. We were intruders upon the decencies of civilisation. That dog was not to be misled by any foolish whimsies of the imagination.
And she saw Jeremy as a real child of Evil in the very baldest sense. She could not imagine how anyone so young could be so cruel, so heartless, so maliciously clever in his elaborate machinations.
For one reaps but a small reward from oratory and poetry, unless our eloquence is really first-class, while history seems to charm people in whatever style it is written. For men are naturally curious; they are delighted even by the baldest relation of facts, and so we see them carried away even by little stories and anecdotes.
These books have the venerableness which belongs to ancient writings. With what interest and care we handle a very old book, and turn its well-worn pages, thumb-marked and dog-eared by men of Oxford or of Florence in the Middle Ages! Unless we are the baldest materialists, we will not reserve for the parchment body of some old book the respect called forth by its soul.
"Well, if I had took up land along a creek that never goes dry and proved upon it like you have, and if I had saw that land raise its value on me with me lifting no finger " "Why did you lift no finger?" cut in the Virginian. "Who stopped yu' taking up land? Did it not stretch in front of yu', behind yu', all around yu', the biggest, baldest opportunity in sight?
The baldest of Shaker prose turned to purest poetry when Susanna dipped it in the alembic of her own imagination. "Labor for the gift of sight!" said Martha, who believed implicitly in spirits and visions. "Labor this very night." It must be said for Susanna that she had never ceased laboring in her own way for many days. The truth was that she felt herself turning from marriage.
The Doctor drove along the southern foot of The Mountain. The "Dudley mansion" was near the eastern edge of this declivity, where it rose steepest, with baldest cliffs and densest patches of over-hanging wood. It seemed almost too steep to climb, but a practised eye could see from a distance the zigzag lines of the sheep-paths which scaled it like miniature Alpine roads.
Only as you approached the coast was there anything to stir the heart. As for Wick itself, it is one of the meanest of man's towns, and situate certainly on the baldest of God's bays.
The baldest writer of hymns might work up passion enough for a consummation like this. Once more, Byron was insufficiently furnished with positive intellectual ideas, and for want of these his most exalted words were constantly left sterile of definite and pointed outcome.
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