Author: Anna Maria Porter

Cites

• Edward Young (1)
  • IN: The Hungarian Brothers (1832) Fiction, British
    EPIGRAPH: What so sweet So beautiful on earth, and Ah! so rare, As kindred love, and faulty repoie.
    FROM: The Brothers, (1728), Play, UK
• Montgomery (1)
  • IN: The Recluse of Norway (1814) Fiction, British
    EPIGRAPH: Not his, the fortitude that mocks at pains, But that which feels them most, and most sustains.
    FROM: "The World Before the Flood", (1813), Poem, UK
• Dante Alighieri (2)
  • IN: The Knight of St. John: A Romance (1817) Fiction, British
    EPIGRAPH: “Let its pure flame ** From Virtue flow, and love can never fail “To warm another's bosom, so the light “ Shine manifestly forth.”
    FROM: Carey's Dante, (1814), Poem, Italy
  • IN: The Fast of St. Magdalen (1819) Fiction, British
    EPIGRAPH: Thou shalt leave Each thing beloved most dearly : 'tis the last shaft Shot from the bow of exile.
    FROM: Carey's Dante, (1814), Poem, Italy
• William Shakespeare (2)
  • IN: Don Sebastian: Or, The House of Braganza (1835) Fiction, British
    EPIGRAPH: Take Physic, Pomp! Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel, So shalt thou shake the superflux to them, ...And show the Heavens more just. kin
    FROM: King Lear, (1608), Play, UK
  • IN: Don Sebastian; Or The House of Braganza (1838) Fiction, British
    EPIGRAPH: Take physic, pomp! Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel, So shalt thou shake the superflux to them, And show the heavens more just.
    FROM: King Lear, (1608), Play, UK
• NULL (1)
  • IN: The Lake of Killarney (1804) Fiction, British
    EPIGRAPH: Qual Sacrificio Padre farci Se fate il win cere Gli affetti mici, Opra fi facile Per queſto cor? What ſacrifice ſhould I make, if conquering my affection were an eaſy taſk for my heart 2
    FROM: NULL, (None), NULL, NULL
• Potter (1)
  • IN: The Village of Mariendorpt (1821) Fiction, British
    EPIGRAPH: My son ! My son ! Do I behold thy face ? Oh, fold thine arms Around me, clasp me to thy bosom, lean Thy cheek 'gainst my fond cheek, and shade my breast With the thick ringlets of thy clustering hair ! * * * * * What shall I say to thee, — how tell thee all ?
    FROM: Euripides, (1783), NULL, UK