Here is a collection in Buzzfeed of 51 Of The Most Beautiful Sentences In Literature, as nominated by readers. Most are American and recent.
None of them greatly impressed me, actually. These are better than the ones in the article in my opinion. Passing reader, please suggest more in the comment box below.
'O, help me heaven,' she prayed, `to be decorative and to do right'. Firbank
Life is sweet, brother, who would wish to die? A gypsy speaking to George Borrow
Life is, I am sure, made of poetry. Jorge Luis Borges
Hatred of Catholicism is the only genuinely religious emotion the English ever experience.
No man can please others who does not please himself. Frederic Harrison
Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again. Daphne du Maurier
Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale / Her infinite variety. Antony and Cleopatra
They are entombed in the urns and sepulchres of mortality. Sir Ranulph Crewe. The whole passage is here.
There are no fields of amaranth on this side of the grave: there are no voices, O Rhodope! that are not soon mute, however tuneful: there is no name, with whatever emphasis of passionate love repeated, of which the echo is not faint at last. Walter Savage Landor
Time hath, my lord, a wallet at his back,/ Wherein he puts alms for oblivion. Troilus and Cressida
I saw the new moon late yestreen
With the old moon in her arm;
And if we go to sea, master,
I fear we'll come to harm.
'O, help me heaven,' she prayed, `to be decorative and to do right'. Firbank
Life is sweet, brother, who would wish to die? A gypsy speaking to George Borrow
Life is, I am sure, made of poetry. Jorge Luis Borges
Hatred of Catholicism is the only genuinely religious emotion the English ever experience.
No man can please others who does not please himself. Frederic Harrison
Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again. Daphne du Maurier
Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale / Her infinite variety. Antony and Cleopatra
They are entombed in the urns and sepulchres of mortality. Sir Ranulph Crewe. The whole passage is here.
There are no fields of amaranth on this side of the grave: there are no voices, O Rhodope! that are not soon mute, however tuneful: there is no name, with whatever emphasis of passionate love repeated, of which the echo is not faint at last. Walter Savage Landor
Time hath, my lord, a wallet at his back,/ Wherein he puts alms for oblivion. Troilus and Cressida
I saw the new moon late yestreen
With the old moon in her arm;
And if we go to sea, master,
I fear we'll come to harm.
Mr. Holmes, they were the footprints of a gigantic hound.
