lies buried at Reading, in the Benedictine abbey founded by him there, the ruins of which may still be seen; and, in this same abbey, great John of Gaunt was married to the Lady Blanche.
At Reading lock we came up with a steam launch, belonging to some friends of mine, and they towed us up to within about a mile of Streatley.
What the Roman and Grecian multitude could not hear, after the lapse of ages a few scholars read, and a few scholars only are still reading it.
Most men have learned to read to serve a paltry convenience, as they have learned to cipher in order to keep accounts and not be cheated in trade; but of reading as a noble intellectual exercise they know little or nothing; yet this only is reading, in a high sense, not that which lulls us as a luxury and suffers the nobler faculties to sleep the while, but what we have to stand on tip-toe to read and devote our most alert and wakeful hours to.
"Haven't I said I'm not going to gwovel?" Denisov interrupted him, went on reading his paper.
When the reading of Denisov's virulent reply, which took more than an hour, was over, Rostov said nothing, and he spent the rest of the day in a most dejected state of mind amid Denisov's hospital comrades, who had round him, telling them what he knew and listening to their stories.
The man with the book was not reading
aloud, and no one spoke; all seemed to be waiting for something to occur; the dead man only was without expectation.
She could not abstract her mind five minutes: she was forced to listen; his reading
was capital, and her pleasure in good reading
Doubtless the good man has spent many a studious hour in this old chair, either penning a sermon or reading
some abstruse book of theology, till midnight came upon him unawares.
Waldengarver," said the man who was on his knees, "in which you're out in your reading
. Now mind!
Still, they were not ignorant of my reading
, and I remember how proud I was when a certain boy, who had always whipped me when we fought together, and so outranked me in that little boys' world, once sent to ask me the name of the Roman emperor who lamented at nightfall, when he had done nothing worthy, that he had lost a day.
He listened, and read his book, and recalled the whole train of ideas suggested by his reading
. It was Tyndall's Treatise on Heat.