id,comments,provenance,dictionary,created_at,reviewed_on,work_id,theme,context,updated_at,metaphor,text
8539,"•REVISIT. The letter is metaphorized not what's within the breast! INTEREST. A metaphor of mind metaphorized.
•I've included twice: Body and Mirror
•Note, E. Cook thinks Watt has this exactly wrong: ""Johnson is ironically citing an 'idée reçue' here in order to undermine it""
•Was citing p. 519? (of what?)
","Reading. Discussed in Ian Watt's Rise of the Novel (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1957), 191. But see Elizabeth Heckendorn Cook's Epistolary Bodies: Gender and Genre in the Eighteenth-Century Republic of Letters (Stanford: Stanford UP, 1996), 86. See also Joe Bray's The Epistolary Novel: Representations of Consciousness (London and New York: Routledge, 2003), 8.",Mirror,2005-03-25 00:00:00 UTC,2009-03-04,3278,"",To Hester Thrale,2013-10-12 03:56:47 UTC,"""In a man's letters, you know, Madam, his soul lies naked, his letters are only the mirror of his breast, whatever passes within him is shown undisguised in its natural process.""","In a man's letters, you know, Madam, his soul lies naked, his letters are only the mirror of his breast, whatever passes within him is shown undisguised in its natural process. Nothing is inverted, nothing distorted, you see systems in their elements, you discover actions in their motives.
(II, pp. 14-15 in Thrale)"
15081,•I've included thrice: Mirror and Face and Mask,"Searching ""mirror"" and ""soul"" in HDIS (Drama); found again searching in ECCO-TCP",Mirror,2005-11-30 00:00:00 UTC,,5643,Physiognomy,"Act III, scene iii",2013-08-16 04:23:02 UTC,"""Why is the countenance made a mask for the soul, when it should be a mirror, in which every eye might behold the true features of the mind, in the deformity of vice, or the loveliness of virtue!""","ANG.
Oh, that every heart was like mine, a stranger to dissimulation! Why is the countenance made a mask for the soul, when it should be a mirror, in which every eye might behold the true features of the mind, in the deformity of vice, or the loveliness of virtue!
(III.iii, p. 62)"
15150, •I've included twice: Mirror and Voice,"Searching ""reason"" and ""mirror"" in HDIS (Poetry)",Mirror,2005-11-30 00:00:00 UTC,,5663,"","",2013-08-22 21:48:54 UTC,"""May Europe's race the generous toil pursue, / And Truth's broad mirror spread to every view; / Awake to Reason's voice the savage mind, / Check Error's force, and civilize mankind.""","May Europe's race the generous toil pursue,
And Truth's broad mirror spread to every view;
Awake to Reason's voice the savage mind,
Check Error's force, and civilize mankind;
Faith's radiant beam impart to farthest climes,
And teach pure Wisdom undebas'd by crimes;
To the free breeze the swelling sail unfold
Impell'd by Virtue, not allur'd by Gold.
No more with arms the trembling tribes destroy,
But soft Persuasion's gentler Powers employ,
Till, from her throne barbarian Rudeness hurl'd,
Refinement spread her Empire o'er the world."
19124,"",Reading,Optics,2011-09-02 18:57:31 UTC,,7080,"","",2011-09-02 18:57:31 UTC,"""And ah! the blessings valued most / By human minds, are blessings lost / Unlike the objects of the eye, / Enlarging, as we bring them nigh, / Our joys, at distance strike the breast, / And seem diminish'd when possest.""","For you, while Morn in graces gay,
Wakes the fresh bloom of op'ning Day;
Gilds with her purple light your dome,
Renewing all the joys of home;
Of home! dear scene, whose ties can bind
With sacred force the human mind;
That feels each little absence pain,
And lives but to return again;
To that lov'd spot, however far,
Points, like the needle to its star;
That native shed which first we knew,
Where first the sweet affections grew;
Alike the willing heart can draw,
If fram'd of marble, or of straw;
Whether the voice of pleasure calls,
And gladness echoes thro' its walls;
Or, to its hallow'd roof we fly,
With those we love to pour the sigh;
The load of mingled pain to bear,
And soften every pang we share!--
Ah, think how desolate His state,
How He the chearful light must hate,
Whom, sever'd from his native soil,
The Morning wakes to fruitless toil;
To labours, hope shall never chear,
Or fond domestic joy endear;
Poor wretch! on whose despairing eyes
His cherish'd home shall never rise!
Condemn'd, severe extreme, to live
When all is fled that life can give!--
And ah! the blessings valued most
By human minds, are blessings lost!
Unlike the objects of the eye,
Enlarging, as we bring them nigh,
Our joys, at distance strike the breast,
And seem diminish'd when possest.
(pp. 12-4, ll. 173-208)"