Word: familiar
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Dates: during 1880-1889
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...severe and exhaustive as those in one which has more frequent recitations, while those who take these courses have the number of their examinations greatly increased and their time for study correspondingly lessened. In fact, we may sum up the objections to one-hour courses in a figure familiar to all who have taken Freshman Physics, and say that the friction is far too great in proportion to the work accomplished...
...costumes were a perfect delight. It was as if the figures with which we are familiar in vases, paintings, and statuary had suddenly warmed into life, burst from their confinement, and appeared before us with all the grace of motion and the brilliancy of color. The most artistic dress was perhaps that of Jocasta on her second appearance. In general it may be said that the actors did not seem to feel quite at home in their drapery...
...felt myself helpless as a dead man. I seemed to be in another world; that familiar college room was strange and unreal. A wonderful enchantment possessed me. I looked at the clock: the hands were moving irregularly backward and forward, though it had stopped ticking. There was an escritoire in one corner of the room, and the cover of this fell down with a loud bang. Inside was a man's skull. The pictures seemed to move in their frames. I could see the figure of a dog run madly back and forth; the horses in "Aurora" were galloping furiously...
...undergraduate poem seems to me to possess any of the characteristics of so-called true poetry. The undergraduate poet rhapsodizes over a ditch bordered by hummocks of meadow-grass and clumps of scrubby, unsightly bushes; he goes into ecstasies over a frog-pond in a cow pasture; he personifies familiar objects; invests them with a glamour of brilliant colors, and imagines various noble fancies about them, or draws high lessons from their imagined actions or feelings, - what more does the true poet? In short, in criticising poetry it is hard to say just where sentiment leaves off, and sentimentalism begins...
...interrupted by a loud cry of "Yang, yang!" and suddenly before my affrighted gaze there stood the form of an aboriginal and autochthonous native. Of course I was scared perfectly indigo, the more so as he poured forth a torrent of unintelligible sounds, among which I barely distinguished the familiar syllables of Lardy and Linda. When I did recognize these, however, I leave the reader to imagine what feelings I experienced. All that impotent rage and hate mingled with love, all that blighted hope and the consciousness of personal injury combined with everlasting affection, could put into the heart...