ENGL 203 pt 2 quotes

“that it is a most happy and important thing for a man to merely be able to do as he likes. on what he is to do when he is thus free to do as he likes, we do not lay so much stress”

Culture and Anarchy- Arnold

“our notion of its being the great right and happiness of an Englishman to do as far as possible what he likes, we are in danger of drifting towards anarchy”

Culture and Anarchy- Arnold

“To say we work for sweetness and light, then, is only another way of saying that we work for hellenism”

Culture and Anarchy- Arnold

“The sea is calm tonight
The tide is full, the moon lies fair
Upon the straits; on the French coast the light
Gleams and is gone; the cliffs of England stand,
Glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay.
Come to the window, sweet is the night air!
Only, from the long line of spray
Where the sea meets the moon-blanched land,
Listen! you hear the granting roar
Of pebbles which waves draw back, and fling,
At their return, up the high strand,
Begin and cease, and then again begin,
With tremulous cadence slow, and bring
The eternal note of sadness in”

Dover Beach- Arnold

“One face looks out from all his canvases,
One selfsame figure sits or walks or leans:
We found her hidden just behind those screens,
That mirror gave back all her loveliness”

In an Artists Studio- Rosetti

“No sooner have you feasted on beauty with your eyes than your mind tells you that beauty passes. Death, oblivion, and rest lap round your songs with their dark wave. And them incongruously, a sound of scurrying laughter is heard.”

I Am Christina Rosetti- Woolf

“Morning and evening
maids heard the goblins cry:
Come buy our orchard fruits,
Come buy, come buy:
Apples and quinces,
Lemons and oranges,
Plump unpecked cherries,
Melons and raspberries,
Bloom-down-cheeked peaches,
Swart-headed mullberries,
Wild free-born cranberries,
Crab-apples, dewberries…”

Goblin Market- Rosetti

“Lizzie cover’d up her eyes,
Cover’d close lest they should look;
Laura rear’d her glossy head,
And whisper’d like the restless brook:
Look, Lizzie, look, Lizzie
Down the glen tramp little men.”

Goblin Market- Rosetti

“‘Now, what I want is Facts. Teach these boys and girls nothing but Facts. Facts alone are wanted in life. Plant nothing else, root out everything else. You can only form the minds of reasoning animals upon Facts: nothing else will ever be of any service to them. This is the principle on which I bring up my own children, and this is the principle on which I bring up these children. Stick to Facts, sir!’”

Hard Times- Dickens

“In the hardest-working part of Coketown; in the innermost fortifications of that ugly citadel, where Nature was as strongly bricked out as killings airs and gases were bricked in; at the heart of the labyrinth of narrow courts upon courts, and close streets, which had come into existence piecemeal, every piece in a violent hurry for some one man’s purpose, and the whole an unnatural family, shouldering, and trampling, and pressing one another to death…”

Hard Times- Dickens

“CYRIL (coming in through the open window from the terrace):
My dear Vivian, don’t coop yourself up all day in the library. It is a perfectly lovely afternoon. The air is exquisite. There is a mist upon the woods like the purple bloom upon a plum. Let us go and lie on the grass, and smoke cigarettes, and enjoy Nature”

The Decay of Lying- Wilde

“She nodded, with tears rolling down her face. ‘I hope so, and father said I was. It was because he grew so scared and trembling, and because he felt himself to be a poor, weak, ignorant, helpless man (those used to be his words), that he wanted me so much to know a great deal and be different from him. I used to read to him to cheer his courage and he was very fond of that. They were wrong books-I am never to speak of them here-but we didn’t know there was any harm in them’”

Hard Times- Dickens

“The inattention and indolence of his manner were sufficiently relieved, to Mrs Sparsit’s thinking, by a certain gallery at ease, which offered her homage too. Here he was, for instance, at this moment all but sitting on the table, and yet lazily bending over her as if he acknowledged an attraction in her that made her charming- in her way”

Hard Times- Dickens

“To see the object as in itself it really is, has been justly said to be the aim of all true criticism whatever; and in aesthetic criticism the first step towards seeing one’s object as it really is, is to know one’s own impression as it really is, to discriminate it, to realise it distinctly.”

Studies in the History of the Renaissance- Pater

“At first sight experience seems to bury us under a floor of external objects, pressing upon us with a sharp and importunate reality, calling us out of ourselves in a thousand forms of action. But when reflexion begins to play upon these objects they are dissipated under its influence; the cohesive force seems suspended like some trick of magic; each object is loosed into a group of impressions- colour, odour, texture-in the mind of the observer.”

Studies in the History of the Renaissance- Pater

“We caught the tread of dancing feet,
We loitered down the moonlit street,
And stopped beneath the Harlots House.
Inside, above the din and fray,
We heard the loud musicians play
The “Treuses Liebes Herz” of Strauss”

The Harlot’s House- Wilde

“Historic, side-long, implicating eyes;
A smile of velvet’s lustre on the cheek;
Calm lips the smile leads upward; hand that lies
Glowing and soft, the patience in its rest
Of cruelty that waits and does not seek
For prey; a dusky forehead and a breast
Where twilight touches ripeness amorously:
Behind her, crystal rocks, a sea and skies
Of evanescent blue on cloud and creek;
Landscape that shines suppressive of its zest
For those vicissitudes by which men die.”

La Gioconda- Field

“See how the speckled sky burns like a pigeons’ throat,
Jewelled with embers of opal and peridote.
See the white river that flashes and scintillates,
Curved like a tusk from the mouth of the city-gates.
Hark, from the minaret, how muezzin’s call
Floats like a battle-flag over the city wall.”

Nightfall in the City of Hyderabad- Naidu

“Poets with whom I learned my trade,
Companions of the Chesire Cheese,
Here’s an old story I’ve re-made,
Imagining ‘twould better please
Yours ears than stories now in fashion…”

The Grey Rock- Yeats

“I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made:
Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee,
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.”

The Lake Isle of Innisfree- Yeats

“We sat together at one summer’s end,
That beautiful mild woman, your close friend,
And you and I, and talked of poetry.
I said ‘a line will take us hours maybe;
Yet if it does not seem a moment’s thought,
Our stitching and unstitching has been naught.
Better go down upon your marrow-bones
And scrub a kitchen pavement, or break stones
Like an old pauper, in all kinds of weather;
For to articulate sweet sounds together
Is to work harder than all these, and yet
Be thought an idler by the noisy set
Of bankers, schoolmasters, and clergymen
The martyrs call the world”

Adam’s Curse- Yeats

“The apparition of these faces in the crowd: Petals on a wet, black bough”

In a Station of the Metro- Pound

“Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherized upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreas
Of restless nights in one—night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question…
Oh, do not ask, ‘What is it?’
Let us go and make our visit”

The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock- Eliot

“He waited outside the drawing-room door until the waltz should finish, listening to the skirts that swept against it and to the shuffling of feet. He was still discomposed by the girl’s bitter and sudden retort. It had cast a gloom over him which he tried to dispel by arranging his cuffs and the bows of his tie. He then took from his waistcoat pocket a little paper and glanced at the headings he had made for his speech.”

The Dead- Joyce

“A few light taps upon the pane made him turn to the window. It had begun to snow again. He watched sleepily the flakes, silver and dark, falling obliquely against the lamplight. The time had come for him to set out on his journey westward. Yes, the newspapers were right: snow was general all over Ireland. It was falling on every part of the dark central plain, on the treeless hills, falling softly upon the Bog of Allen and, farther westward, softly falling into the dark mutinous Shannon waves.”

The Dead- Joyce

“Articles have to be about something. Mine, I seem to remember, was about a novel by a famous man. And while I was writing this review, I discovered that if I were going to review books I should need to do battle with a certain phantom. And the phantom was a woman, and when I came to know her better I called her after the heroine of a famous poem, The Angel in the House. It was she who used to come between me and my paper when I was writing reviews. It was she who bothered me and wasted my time and so tormented me that at last I killed her.”

Professions for Women- Woolf

“Look within and life, it seems, is very far from being “like this”. Examine for a moment an ordinary mind on an ordinary day. The mind receives a myriad impressions- trivial, fantastic, evanescent, or engraved with the sharpness of steel. From all sides they cine, an incessant shower of innumerable atoms; and as they fall, as they shape themselves into the life of Monday or Tuesday, the accent falls differently from of old; the moment of importance came not here but there….”

Modern Fiction- Woolf

“For it was the middle of June. The War was over, except for some one like Mrs Foxcroft at the Embassy last night eating her heart out because that nice boy was killed and now the old Manor House must go to a cousin; or Lady Bexborough who opened a bazaar, they said with the telegram in her hand, Jon, her favourite, killed; but it was over; thank Heaven-over”

Mrs Dalloway- Woolf

“For they might be parted for hundreds of years, she and Peter; she never wrote a latter and his were dry sticks; but suddenly it would come over her, If he were with me now what would he say?-some days, some sights bringing him back to her calmly, without the old bitterness; which perhaps was the reward of having cared for people; they came back in the middle of St James’s Park on a fine morning-indeed they did.”

Mrs Dalloway- Woolf

“Am I writing The Hours from deep emotion? Of course the mad part tries me so much… I can hardly face spending the next weeks at it. It’s a question though of these characters. People, like Arnold Bennett, say I can’t create, or didn’t in Jacob’s Room, characters that survive….I daresay it’s true, however, that I haven’t that ‘reality’ gift. I insubstantise, wilfully to some extent, distrusting reality-its cheapness. But to get further. Have I the power of conveying the true reality?”

Diary 19- Woolf

“Quiet descended on her, calm, content, as her needle, drawing the silk smoothly to its gentle pause, collected the green folds together and attached them, very lightly, to the belt. So on a summer’s day waves collect, overbalance, and fall; collect and fall; and the whole world seems to be saying ‘that is all’ more and more ponderously, until even the heart in the body which lies in the sun on the beach says too, That is all.”

Mrs Dalloway- Woolf

“One of the facts that might come to light in this process is our tendency to insist, when we praise a poet, upon those aspects of his work in which he least resembles anyone else. In these aspects or parts of his work we pretend to find what is individual, what is the peculiar essence of the man. We dwell with satisfaction upon the poet’s difference from his predecessors, especially his immediate predecessors; we endevour to find that not only the best, but the most individual parts of his work may be those in which the dead poets, his ancestors, assert their immortality most vigorously.”

Tradition and the Individual Talent- Eliot

“Yet if the only form of tradition, of hading down, consisted in following the ways of the immediate generation before us in a blind ot timid adherence to its successes, ‘tradition’ should positively be discouraged. We have seen many such simple currents soon lost in the sand; novelty is better than repetition. Tradition is a matter of wider significance. It cannot be inherited, and if you want it you must obtain it by great labour. It involves, in the first place, the historial sense, which we may call nearly indispensable to anyone who would coninute to be a poet beyond his twenty-fifth year; and the historical sense involves a perception, not only of the pastness of the past but of its presence; the historical sense compels a man to write not merely with his own generation in his bones, but with a feeling that the whole of the literature of Europe from Homer and within it the whole of the literature of his own country has a simultaneous existence and composes a simultaneous order”

Tradition and the Individual Talent- Eliot

“And this sort of thing was happening at a time when the English people starting to make rab about how too much West Indians coming to the country… In fact, the boys all over London…and big discussion going on in Parliament about the situation, through the old Brit’n too diplomatic to clamp down on the boys or to do anything drastic like stop them from coming to the Mother Country.”

Lonely Londoners- Selvon

“As if, on the surface, things don’t looks so bad, but when you go down a little, you bounce up a kind of misery and pathos and a frigthening-what?…As if the boys laughing, but they only laughing because they fraid to cry, they only laughing because to think so much about everything would be a big calamity, like how he here now, his thoughts so heavy he unable to move his body.”

Lonely Londoners- Selvon

“The curtains were half drawn, the floor was swept
And strewn with rushes, rosemary and may
Lay thick upon the bed on which I lay,
Where thro’ the lattice ivy-shadows crept.
He leaned above me, thinking that I slept.
And could not hear him; but I heard him say:
‘Poor child, poor child’: and as he turned away
Came a deep silence, and I knew he wept.

After Death- Rosetti

“Whirl up, sea-
Whirl your pointed pines,
Splash your great pines
On our rocks,
Hurl your green over us,
Cover us with your pools of fir.”

Oread- H.D.

“Rose, harsh rose,
Marred and with stint of petals,
meagre flower, thin,
sparse leaf,
more precious
than a wet rose,
single on a stem-
you are caught in the drift.”

Sea Rose- H.D.

“When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;
How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved your pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;
And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.”

When You Are Old- Yeats

“He stood among a crowd at Drumahair;
His heart hung all upon a silken dress,
And he had known at last some tenderness,
Before earth took him to her stony care;
But when a man poured fish into a pile,
It seemed they raised their little silver heads,
And sang what gold morning or evening sheds
Upon a woven world-forgotten isle
Where people love beside the ravelled seas;
That Time can never mar a lover’s vows
Under that woven changeless roof of boughs:
The singing shook him out of his new ease.”

The Man Who Dreamed of Faeryland- Yeats

“Why should I blame her that she filled my days
With misery, or that she would love of late
Have taught to ignorant men most violent ways,
Or hurled the little streets upon the great,
Had they but courage equal to desire?
What could have made her peaceful with a mind
That nobleness made simple as a fire,
That is not natural in an age like this,
Being high and solitary and most stern?
Why, what could she have done, being what she is?
Was there another Troy for her to burn?”

No Second Troy- Yeats

“I grow old…I grow old…
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.
Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids, singing, each to each.
I do not think that they will sing to me:

The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock- Eliot

“Now it is clear that the decline of a language must ultimately have political and economic causes: it is not due simply to the bad influence of this or that individual writer. But an effect can become a cause, reinforcing the original cause and producing the same effect in an intensified form, and so on indefinitely. A man may take to drink because he feels himself a failure, and the fail all the more completely because he drinks. It is rather the same thing that is happening to the English language.”

Politics and the English Language- Orwell

“He disappeared in the dead of winter:
The brooks were frozen, the air-ports almost deserted,
And snow disfigured the public statues;
The mercury sank in the mouth of the dying day.
O all the instruments agree
The day of his death was a dark cold day.”

In Memory of W.B. Yeats- Auden