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678五月丁香亚洲综合网_日本在线加勒比一本道_久久精,亚洲 小说 欧美 另类,人人日&#

时间: 2019年12月13日 17:45

There are those who would be ashamed to subject themselves to such a taskmaster, and who think that the man who works with his imagination should allow himself to wait till 鈥?inspiration moves him. When I have heard such doctrine preached, I have hardly been able to repress my scorn. To me it would not be more absurd if the shoemaker were to wait for inspiration, or the tallow-chandler for the divine moment of melting. If the man whose business it is to write has eaten too many good things, or has drunk too much, or smoked too many cigars 鈥?as men who write sometimes will do 鈥?then his condition may be unfavourable for work; but so will be the condition of a shoemaker who has been similarly imprudent. I have sometimes thought that the inspiration wanted has been the remedy which time will give to the evil results of such imprudence. 鈥?Mens sana in corpore sano. The author wants that as does every other workman 鈥?that and a habit of industry. I was once told that the surest aid to the writing of a book was a piece of cobbler鈥檚 wax on my chair. I certainly believe in the cobbler鈥檚 wax much more than the inspiration. He stopped those tremulous lips with a kiss鈥攖he kiss that betrays. The carriage dashed down a steep bill, rattled along a street so narrow that the wheels seemed to grind against the house-fronts on each side, down hill again, and then the horse was pulled up suddenly in a stony square, and the door opened, and the soft, fresh sea-breeze blew[Pg 307] among her loosened hair, and upon her uncovered neck, and she heard the gentle plish-plash of a boat moored against the quay at her feet. 鈥楢h, I should get a good scolding if I treated Lady Keeling like that,鈥?he said. And so the night wore on, and she danced with him more times than she could count, forgetting, or pretending to forget, other engagements; going through an occasional waltz with another partner just for propriety's sake, and hardly knowing who that partner was; knowing so well that there was some one else standing against the wall, watching her every movement, with the love-light in his eyes. He took his cheque-book out of his drawer and wrote. He knew that in this desire he exceeded the teaching of churchmen; that another priest in his place might have bade her keep her sad secret to the end, he down with it in her early grave, be remembered as a saint, yet die knowing herself a sinner. If he had thought of the husband's peace first, he would have counselled silence. But he thought most of this stricken soul, with wings that spread themselves towards heaven, held down to earth by the burden of an unpardoned sin. 678五月丁香亚洲综合网_日本在线加勒比一本道_久久精,亚洲 小说 欧美 另类,人人日&# 鈥業t isn鈥檛 the act of a gentleman,鈥?he said. 鈥楤ut they鈥檝e just told me that I鈥檓 not one, or they would have elected me. They will like to know how right they are.鈥? Then suddenly all surmise and speculation was expunged from his mind, for no longer the clack of the typewriting machine came from next door. He heard the stir of a chair pushed back, and the rattle of a door handle. Norah was coming; who was of greater concern than all his thoughts about her.... And he was going to give her no quarter: she would have to introduce the subject of her feelings with regard to his niggardly hospital-subscription herself. He knew something of her pride from the affair of the book-plate, and he longed to see her take that armour off. 鈥楾ell me one thing,鈥?she said. 鈥業s there some one else? Is it Julia Fyson? Oh, Mr Silverdale, do tell me it is not Julia Fyson!{210}鈥? This was dated early in 1860, and could have had no reference to Framley Parsonage; but it was as true of that work as of any that I have written. And the criticism, whether just or unjust, describes with wonderful accuracy the purport that I have ever had in view in my writing. I have always desired to 鈥渉ew out some lump of the earth,鈥?and to make men and women walk upon it just as they do walk here among us 鈥?with not more of excellence, nor with exaggerated baseness 鈥?so that my readers might recognise human beings like to themselves, and not feel themselves to be carried away among gods or demons. If I could do this, then I thought I might succeed in impregnating the mind of the novel-reader with a feeling that honesty is the best policy; that truth prevails while falsehood fails; that a girl will be loved as she is pure; and sweet, and unselfish; that a man will be honoured as he is true, and honest, and brave of heart; that things meanly done are ugly and odious, and things nobly done beautiful and gracious. I do not say that lessons such as these may not be more grandly taught by higher flights than mine. Such lessons come to us from our greatest poets. But there are so many who will read novels and understand them, who either do not read the works of our great poets, or reading them miss the lesson! And even in prose fiction the character whom the fervid imagination of the writer has lifted somewhat into the clouds, will hardly give so plain an example to the hasty normal reader as the humbler personage whom that reader unconsciously feels to resemble himself or herself. I do think that a girl would more probably dress her own mind after Lucy Robarts than after Flora Macdonald. Frequently I look around at my audiences and recognizepeople who have heard me talk before. I recognizethem because they have "the look of recognition" ontheir face when they see me. It's a look, or even an attitude,of silent anticipation that any minute I'll recognizethem. Well, this look can work wonders鈥攆rom time totime鈥攚ith people you haven't met before. If you're onyour own, try it out right now. Let your mouth openslightly in a smile as your eyebrows arch and your headtilts back a little with anticipation as you look directlyat an imaginary person. A variation is to tilt your headas you look slightly away and then look back at the personwith the bare minimum of a frown and/or pursedlips. Practice. Then give it a try. Be as subtle as you possiblycan.