ellauri035.html on line 332: In travail with sorrowful waters, unwept tears
ellauri035.html on line 487: Upon the pillow empty, your sorrowful arm
ellauri083.html on line 549: Even in laughter the heart is sorrowful; and the end of that mirth is heaviness.
ellauri094.html on line 637: Nor the sorrows not sorrowful, nor the face most fair Eikä suruttomat surut, eikä täydellisen kehun
ellauri160.html on line 62: And I tried to hear the monkeys in your lofty far-off sky. The monkeys make sorrowful noise overhead.
ellauri171.html on line 793: Though Christ never taught it was wrong to have wealth, He did warn about the snare of riches. For example, there was a rich young man who came to Him during His ministry. He asked Jesus what He must do to inherit eternal life. Jesus told Him, “sell what you have and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; and come, follow Me” (Matthew 19:21). As the episode unfolds, the rich young man could not bring himself to do this. He “went away sorrowful, but anyway he had great possessions” (Matthew 19:22).
ellauri192.html on line 283: THIS same bias extends to literary forms. We look in vain on the Nobel register for the experimental, formally subversive, controversial movements and texts that distinguish modernism. No Surrealist has been rewarded, no major Expressionist, no poet or playwright out of the seminal world of Dada or absurdism (Andre Breton, Hugo Ball, Gertrude Stein). The boat is not to be rocked. On august occasion, lyric eroticism and even sorrowful homosexuality are admitted to Parnassus. Radical sexual play in style, in ''amoral'' revaluation, are vetoed. The liberating sensualists, such as John Cowper Powys, supreme in English fiction after Hardy, are left out. Colette is nowhere to be found. Her heir in sensuous contrivance, Nabokov, was blackballed.
ellauri197.html on line 219: The Chinese edifice quite resembles an Irish pub, in which the men may stop for refreshment and listen to some sorrowful tunes before trekking on. The ancient faces of the Chinese men look on smiling but rather detached as they enjoy the melodies.
ellauri247.html on line 261: "The learned Smelfungus travelled from Boulogne to Paris, from Paris to Rome, and so on, but he set out with the spleen and jaundice, and every object he passed by was discoloured or distorted. He wrote an account of them, but 'twas nothing but the account of his miserable feelings. I met Smelfungus in the grand portico of the Pantheon—he was just coming out of it. ''Tis nothing but a huge cockpit,' said he—'I wish you had said nothing worse of the Venus de Medici,' replied I—for in passing through Florence, I had heard he had fallen foul upon the goddess, and used her worse than a common strumpet, without the least provocation in nature. I popp'd upon Smelfungus again at Turin, in his return home, and a sad tale of sorrowful adventures had he to tell, 'wherein he spoke of moving accidents by flood and field, and of the cannibals which each other eat, the Anthropophagi'; he had been flayed alive, and bedevil'd, and used worse than St. Bartholomew, at every stage he had come at. 'I'll tell it,' cried Smelfungus, 'to the world.' 'You had better tell it,' said I, 'to your physician.'" (Sterne)
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