Rapt Quotes

Authors: A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z
Categories: A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z
i039ve-been-rapt-in-my-bank
how-much-more-seeker-abstract-truth-who-needs-periods-isolation-rapt-concentration-almost-going-out-thebody-to-think-ralph-waldo-emerson
and-looks-commercing-with-skies-thy-rapt-soul-sitting-in-thine-eyes-john-milton
for-that-rapt-one-warns-is-what-papyr-is-meed-made-hides-hints-misses-in-prints-james-joyce
he-who-can-no-longer-pause-to-wonder-and-stand-rapt-in-awe-is-as-good-as-dead-his-eyes-are-closed
he-who-can-no-longer-pause-to-wonder-stand-rapt-in-awe-is-as-good-as-dead-his-eyes-are-closed-albert-einstein
i-looked-up-from-my-writing-and-gave-start-to-see-as-if-rapt-in-my-inditing-the-moons-full-gaze-on-me-thomas-hardy
be-good-listener-with-rapt-attention-let-every-communication-conversation-you-have-with-your-mentor-friends-even-strangers-be-well-understood-israelmore-ayivor
virtue-runs-before-muse-defies-her-skillshe-is-rapt-doth-refuseto-wait-painters-will-ralph-waldo-emerson
in-anything-fit-to-be-called-by-name-reading-process-itself-should-be-absorbing-voluptuous-we-should-gloat-over-book-be-rapt-clean-out-ourselves-robert-louis-stevenson
my-father-was-king-joke-tellers-i-was-impressed-as-child-watching-him-holding-people-in-rapt-attention
it-does-not-at-first-appear-that-astronomer-rapt-in-abstraction-while-he-gazes-on-star-must-feel-more-exquisite-delight-than-farmer-who-is-isaac-disraeli
love-he-to-whom-this-emotion-is-a-stranger-who-can-no-longer-pause-to-wonder-and-stand-rapt-in-awe-is-as-good-as-dead-his-eyes-are-closed
tis-not-to-see-worldas-from-height-with-rapt-prophetic-eyesand-heart-profoundly-stirredand-weep-feel-fullness-pastthe-years-that-are-not-more-matthew-arnold
at-touch-this-divine-light-mountains-seemed-to-kindle-to-rapt-religious-consciousness-stood-hushed-like-devout-worshippers-waiting-to-be-blessed-john-muir
i-love-broad-margin-to-my-life-sometimes-in-summer-morning-having-taken-my-accustomed-bath-i-sat-in-my-sunny-doorway-from-sunrise-til-noon-rapt-in-henry-david-thoreau
fergie-will-sing-ballads-to-dogs-theyll-sit-there-rapt-you-know-your-wifes-star-when-she-keeps-dogs-entertained-for-20-minutes-josh-duhamel
robbed-rapt-audience-advertisers-know-that-influencing-how-you-spend-what-to-do-while-depends-on-having-some-control-over-how-you-spend-resources-in-your-head-greg-carlson
a-thriller-needs-to-hold-interest-reader-from-beginning-it-needs-to-engage-with-them-hold-them-in-rapt-attention-prevent-them-from-putting-down-book
give-full-attention-to-what-you-do-if-you-give-rapt-attention-to-what-you-do-you-can-have-what-you-could-have-done-in-3-hours-well-completed-within-2-hours-less-concentration-is-
the-naming-cats-is-difficult-matter-it-isnt-just-one-your-holiday-games-you-may-think-at-first-im-as-mad-as-hatter-when-i-tell-you-cat-must-have-three-different-names-first-all-t
xerxes-i-read-halted-his-unwieldy-army-for-days-that-he-might-contemplate-to-his-satisfaction-beauty-single-sycamore-you-are-xerxes-in-persia-your-army-spreads-on-vast-arid-penep
On the doorstep Adele met Tony Limpsfield. She hurried him into her motor, and told the chauffeur not to drive on. "News!" she said. "Lucia's going to have a lover." "No!" said Tony in the Riseholme manner "But I tell you she is. He's with her now." "They won't want me then, " said Tony. "And yet she asked me to come at half-past five." "Nonsense, my dear. They will want you, both of them... Oh Tony, don't you see? It's a stunt." Tony assumed the rapt expression of Luciaphils receiving intelligence. "Tell me all about it, " he said. "I'm sure I'm right, " said she. "Her poppet came in just now, and she held his hand as women do, and made him draw his chair up to her, and said he scolded her. I'm not sure that he knows yet. But I saw that he guessed something was up. I wonder if he's clever enough to do it properly... I wish she had chosen you, Tony, you'd have done it perfectly. They have got-don't you understand?-to have the appearance of being lovers, everyone must think they are lovers, while all the time there's nothing at all of any sort in it. It's a stunt: it's a play: it's a glory." "But perhaps there is something in it, " said Tony. "I really think I had better not go in." "Tony, trust me. Lucia has no more idea of keeping a real lover than of keeping a chimpanzee. She's as chaste as snow, a kiss would scorch her. Besides, she hasn't time. She asked Stephen there in order to show him to me, and to show him to you. It's the most wonderful plan; and it's wonderful of me to have understood it so quickly. You must go in: there's nothing private of any kind: indeed, she thirsts for publicity." Her confidence inspired confidence, and Tony was naturally consumed with curiosity. He got out, told Adele's chauffeur to drive on, and went upstairs. Stephen was no longer sitting in the chair next to Lucia, but on the sofa at the other side of the tea-table. This rather looked as if Adele was right: it was consistent anyhow with their being lovers in public, but certainly not lovers in private. "Dear Lord Tony, " said Lucia-this appellation was a halfway house between Lord Limpsfield and Tony, and she left out the "Lord" except to him-"how nice of you to drop in. You have just missed Adele. Stephen, you know Lord Limpsfield?" Lucia gave him his tea, and presently getting up, reseated herself negligently on the sofa beside Stephen. She was a shade too close at first, and edged slightly away. "Wonderful play of Tchekov's the other day, " she said. "Such a strange, unhappy atmosphere. We came out, didn't we, Stephen, feeling as if we had been in some remote dream. I saw you there, Lord Tony, with Adele who had been lunching with me." Tony knew that: was not that the birthday of the Luciaphils?

E.F. Benson
on-doorstep-adele-met-tony-limpsfield-she-hurried-him-into-her-motor-told-chauffeur-not-to-drive-on-news-she-said-lucias-going-to-have-lover-no-said-tony-in-riseholme-manner-but-
Fairy tales, fantasy, legend and myth... these stories, and their topics, and the symbolism and interpretation of those topics... these things have always held an inexplicable fascination for me, " she writes. "That fascination is at least in part an integral part of my character - I was always the kind of child who was convinced that elves lived in the parks, that trees were animate, and that holes in floorboards housed fairies rather than rodents. You need to know that my parents, unlike those typically found in fairy tales - the wicked stepmothers, the fathers who sold off their own flesh and blood if the need arose - had only the best intentions for their only child. They wanted me to be well educated, well cared for, safe - so rather than entrusting me to the public school system, which has engendered so many ugly urban legends, they sent me to a private school, where, automatically, I was outcast for being a latecomer, for being poor, for being unusual. However, as every cloud does have a silver lining - and every miserable private institution an excellent library - there was some solace to be found, between the carved oak cases, surrounded by the well-lined shelves, among the pages of the heavy antique tomes, within the realms of fantasy. Libraries and bookshops, and indulgent parents, and myriad books housed in a plethora of nooks to hide in when I should have been attending math classes... or cleaning my room... or doing homework... provided me with an alternative to a reality I didn't much like. Ten years ago, you could have seen a number of things in the literary field that just don't seem to exist anymore: valuable antique volumes routinely available on library shelves; privately run bookshops, rather than faceless chains; and one particular little girl who haunted both the latter two institutions. In either, you could have seen some variation upon a scene played out so often that it almost became an archetype: A little girl, contorted, with her legs twisted beneath her, shoulders hunched to bring her long nose closer to the pages that she peruses. Her eyes are glued to the pages, rapt with interest. Within them, she finds the kingdoms of Myth. Their borders stand unguarded, and any who would venture past them are free to stay and occupy themselves as they would.

Helen Pilinovsky
fairy-tales-fantasy-legend-myth-these-stories-their-topics-symbolism-interpretation-those-topics-these-things-have-always-held-inexplicable-fascination-for-me-she-writes-that-fas
She ran her hands, butterfly fashion, over the keys. "A little morsel of Stravinski?" she said. It was in the middle of the morsel that Adele came in and found Lucia playing Stravinski to Mr. Greatorex. The position seemed to be away, away beyond her orbit altogether, and she merely waited with undiminished faith in Lucia, to see what would happen when Lucia became aware to whom she was playing... It was a longish morsel, too: more like a meal than a morsel, and it was also remarkably like a muddle. Finally, Lucia made an optimistic attempt at the double chromatic scale in divergent directions which brought it to an end, and laughed gaily. "My poor fingers, " she said. "Delicious piano, dear Adele. I love a Bechstein; that was a little morsel of Stravinski. Hectic perhaps, do you think? But so true to the modern idea: little feverish excursions: little bits of tunes, and nothing worked out. But I always say that there is something in Stravinski, if you study him. How I worked at that little piece, and I'm afraid it's far from perfect yet." Lucia played one more little run with her right hand, while she cudgelled her brain to remember where she had seen this man before, and turned round on the music-stool. She felt sure he was an artist of some kind, and she did not want to ask Adele to introduce him, for that would look as if she did not know everybody. She tried pictures next. "In Art I always think that the Stravinski school is represented by the Post-Cubists, " she said. "They give us pattern in lines, just as Stravinski gives us patterns in notes, and the modern poet patterns in words. At Sophy Alingsby's the other night we had a feast of patterns. Dear Sophy-what a curious mixture of tastes! She cares only for the ultra-primitive in music, and the ultra-modern in Art. Just before you came in, Adele, I was trying to remember the first movement of Beethoven's Moonlight, those triplets though they look easy have to be kept so level. And yet Sophy considers Beethoven a positive decadent. I ought to have taken her to Diva's little concert-Diva Dalrymple-for I assure you really that Stravinski sounded classical compared to the rest of the programme. It was very creditably played, too. Mr.-" what was his name?-"Mr Greatorex." She had actually said the word before her brain made the connection. She gave her little peal of laughter. "Ah, you wicked people, " she cried. "A plot: clearly a plot. Mr. Greatorex, how could you? Adele told you to come in here when she heard me begin my little strummings, and told you to sit down and encourage me. Don't deny it, Adele! I know it was like that. I shall tell everybody how unkind you've been, unless Mr. Greatorex sits down instantly and magically restores to life what I have just murdered." Adele denied nothing. In fact there was no time to deny anything, for Lucia positively thrust Mr. Greatorex on to the music stood, and instantly put on her rapt musical face, chin in hand, and eyes looking dreamily upwards. There was Nemesis, you would have thought, dealing thrusts at her, but Nemesis was no match for her amazing quickness. She parried and thrust again, and here-what richness of future reminiscence-was Mr. Greatorex playing Stravinski to her, before no audience but herself and Adele who really didn't count, for the only tune she liked was "Land of Hope and Glory"... Great was Lucia!

E.F. Benson
she-ran-her-hands-butterfly-fashion-over-keys-a-little-morsel-stravinski-she-said-it-was-in-middle-morsel-that-adele-came-in-found-lucia-playing-stravinski-to-mr-greatorex-the-po
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