"Statued" Quotes from Famous Books
 ... Their numbers gave character to the street, and rendered not them, but what was foreign to them, strange there; so that March had a sense of missionary quality in the old Catholic church, built long before their incursion was dreamed of. It seemed to have come to them there, and he fancied in the statued saint that looked down from its facade something not so much tolerant as tolerated, something propitiatory, almost deprecatory. It was a fancy, of course; the street was sufficiently peopled with Christian children, at any rate, swarming and shrieking at their games; and presently a ...
— Henry James, Jr. • William Dean Howells
... priest rose as he uttered the last words, and its resonant tone returned in echoes from the vaulted ceiling as if each statued saint from out his niche cried: "Consider ...
— The Fifth of November - A Romance of the Stuarts • Charles S. Bentley
... moist meadow in summer. The sound of clattering hoofs and rumbling wheels, of tinkling guitars and gay roundelays, rose out of that obscure distance, seeming far off and plaintive like the dream of a life that is past. The great church seemed a vast world; the long aisles of statued pinnacles with their pure floorings of white marble appeared as if they might be the corridors of heaven; and it seemed as if the crowned and sceptred saints in their white marriage-garments might come down and walk there, without ever a spot of ...
— Atlantic Monthly, Vol. 9, No. 52, February, 1862 • Various
... him shrank and throbbed With horror of the wound, Brave Sumner gave no sound, Nor flinched, nor sobbed, But as though within the man Instant premonition ran Of his high fate, Imperishable, sculptured state Enthroned in death to hold, He stood, a statued form Of veiled and voiceless storm, Inwardly quivering Like the swift-smitten string Of unheard music, yet As massively and firmly set As if he had been marble ...
— Rose and Roof-Tree - Poems • George Parsons Lathrop
... particular, of great length, densely overarched with the climbing rose and the honeysuckle and converging, in separate green vistas, at a sort of umbrageous temple, an ancient rotunda, pillared and statued, niched and roofed, yet with its uncorrected antiquity, like that of everything else at Fawns, conscious hitherto of no violence from the present and no menace from the future. Charlotte had paused there, in her frenzy, or what ever it was to be called; the place was ...
— The Golden Bowl • Henry James |
