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Updated: June 3, 2025
"Une âpreté primitive, où les larmes se cachent comme une faiblesse, communique a l'oeuvre un pathétique si poignant que le mystère de la mort s'étend jusqu'
Der Tod und das Mädchen is sad; so is Les Larmes in Werther.... But a very great deal of supermusic is neither grand nor sad. Haydn's symphonies are usually as light-hearted and as light-waisted as possible. Mozart's Figaro scarcely seems to have a care.
At the supper on the stage after the hundredth performance, Sarah Bernhardt was present. She said nice things to me, and I was enraptured that my "vraies larmes" should have pleased and astonished her! I noticed that she hardly ever moved, yet all the time she gave the impression of swift, butterfly movement. While talking to Henry she took some red stuff out of her bag and rubbed it on her lips!
"Ferme tes yeux a demi, Croise tes bras sur ton sein, Et de ton coeur endormi Chasse a jamais tout dessein." "Je chante la nature, Les etoiles du soir, les larmes du matin, Les couchers de soleil a l'horizon lointain, Le ciel qui parle au coeur d'existence future!" The animal paused on the threshold, interrogative alert, ready for flight if necessary.
"Pourtant console-toi! pense, dans tes alarmes, Qu'un double bien te reste, espoir et souvenir; Une main dans le ciel pour essuyer tes larmes; Une main ici-bas, enfant, pour te benir." The last stanza is especially poor, and in none of them is there much poetical promise.
The worthy Grand Prior was an impetuous wooer, and he saw with great sorrow that Ninon preferred the Counts de Miossens and de Palluan to his clerical attractions. He complained bitterly to Ninon, but instead of being softened by his reproaches, she listened to the voice of some new rival when the Grand Prior thought his turn came next. This put him in a great rage and he resolved to be revenged, and this is the way he fancied he could obtain it. One day shortly after he had left Ninon's house, she noticed on her dressing table a letter, which she opened to find the following effusion: "Indigne de mes feux, indigne de mes larmes, Je renonce sans peine
Her actual distresses, as we have said, had not been up to the present time very considerable: but her griefs lay; like those of most of us, in her own soul that being sad and habitually dissatisfied, what wonder that she should weep? So Mes Larmes dribbled out of her eyes any day at command: she could furnish an unlimited supply of tears, and her faculty of shedding them increased by practice.
But, my amiable Miss Larmes, this is a class of girls and women who are not solicitous about wearing black when their great-aunt in Denmark dies, whom they never saw, nor when the only friend who made heaven possible to them, falls dead at their sides. Nor do they avoid Mrs.
How pretty that little Saxon church looks in the moonlight! I wonder what old Warrington's doing? Yes, she's a dayvlish nice little thing, as my uncle says." "O heavenly!" here broke out a voice from a clematis-covered casement near a girl's voice: it was the voice of the author of Mes Larmes. Pen burst into a laugh. "Don't tell about my smoking," he said, leaning out of his own window.
How pretty that little Saxon church looks in the moonlight! I wonder what old Warrington's doing? Yes, she's a dayvlish nice little thing, as my uncle says." "Oh, heavenly!" Here broke out a voice from a clematis-covered casement near a girl's voice: it was the voice of the author of 'Mes Larmes. Pen burst into a laugh. "Don't tell about my smoking," he said, leaning out of his own window.
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