Medical Standard, Том 37

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Страница 394 - To die, to sleep; To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub; For in that sleep of death what dreams may come When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, Must give us pause...
Страница 394 - Ay, but to die, and go we know not where ; To lie in cold obstruction, and to rot ; This sensible warm motion to become A kneaded clod...
Страница 146 - Hog Butcher for the World, Tool Maker, Stacker of Wheat; Player with Railroads and the Nation's Freight Handler; Stormy, husky, brawling, City of the Big Shoulders...
Страница 146 - It cannot hurt her now,' he said, That I should not be true.'" Then who is digging on my grave? My nearest dearest kin?" - "Ah, no; they sit and think, 'What use! What good will planting flowers produce? No tendance of her mound can loose Her spirit from Death's gin.
Страница 281 - I will draw them all out with my own hands, and my landlady's daughter shall frame them with the parings of my black waistcoat. Each maxim is to be inscribed on a sheet of clean paper, and wrote with my best pen ; of which the following will serve as a specimen. Look sharp : Mind the main chance : Money is money now : If you have a thousand pounds you can put your hands by your sides, and say you are worth a thousand pounds every day of the year : Take a farthing from a hundred and it will be a hundred...
Страница 146 - O it is I, my mistress dear, Your little dog, who still lives near, And much I hope my movements here Have not disturbed your rest?" "Ah, yes! YOU dig upon my grave... Why flashed it not on me That one true heart was left behind! What feeling do we ever find To equal among human kind A dog's fidelity!
Страница 348 - Great are the symbols of being, but that which is symboled is greater; Vast the create and beheld, but vaster the inward creator; Back of the sound broods the silence, back of the gift stands the giving; Back of the hand that receives thrill the sensitive nerves of receiving.
Страница 17 - Its tumult and its strife. Because I lift my head above the mist, Where the sun shines and the broad breezes blow, By every ray and every raindrop kissed That God's love doth bestow: Think you I find no bitterness at all, No burden to be borne, like Christian's pack ? Think you there are no ready tears to fall Because I keep them back ? Why should I hug life's ills with cold reserve, To curse myself and all who love me ? Nay, A thousand times more good than I deserve God gives me every day.
Страница 281 - I shall draw them all out with my own hands, and my landlady's daughter shall frame them with the parings of my black waistcoat. Each maxim is to be inscribed on a sheet of clean paper, and wrote 2 with my best pen ; of which the following will serve as a specimen : — " Look sharp ;" " Mind the main chance ;"
Страница 146 - They tell me you are wicked, and I believe them, for I have seen your painted women under the gas lamps luring -the farm boys.

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