“An infant crying in the night:
An infant crying for the light:
And with no language but a cry.”
An infant crying for the light:
And with no language but a cry.”
Alfred Tennyson, In Memoriam A.H.H.
This is my literary blog (applause), read my intro post and navigate it all you want! My casa es su casa: just ask. Have fun and read!
Retirado en la paz de estos desiertos,
con pocos, pero doctos libros juntos,
vivo en conversación con los difuntos
y escucho con mis ojos a los muertos.
Si no siempre entendidos, siempre abiertos,
o enmiendan, o fecundan mis asuntos;
y en músicos callados contrapuntos
al sueño de la vida hablan despiertos.
Las grandes almas que la muerte ausenta,
de injurias de los años, vengadora,
libra, ¡oh, gran don Iosef!, docta la emprenta.
En fuga irrevocable hoye la hora;
pero aquélla el mejor cálculo cuenta
que en la lección y estudios nos mejora.
INDEX: ↝ author ↝ title
con pocos, pero doctos libros juntos,
vivo en conversación con los difuntos
y escucho con mis ojos a los muertos.
Si no siempre entendidos, siempre abiertos,
o enmiendan, o fecundan mis asuntos;
y en músicos callados contrapuntos
al sueño de la vida hablan despiertos.
Las grandes almas que la muerte ausenta,
de injurias de los años, vengadora,
libra, ¡oh, gran don Iosef!, docta la emprenta.
En fuga irrevocable hoye la hora;
pero aquélla el mejor cálculo cuenta
que en la lección y estudios nos mejora.
“Because he only wishes what is for your own good. And, of course, men know best about everything, except what women know better.”
George Eliot, Middlemarch (724)
“Some gentlemen have made an amazing figure in literature by general discontent with the universe as a trap of dulness into which their great souls have fallen by mistake; but the sense of a stupendous self and an insignificant world may have its consolations. Lydgate’s discontent was much harder to bear: it was the sense that there was a grand existence in thought and effective action lying around him, while his self was being narrowed into the miserable isolation of egoistic fears, and vulgar anxieties for events that might allay such fears.”
George Eliot, Middlemarch (635)
“That’s not precisely what I had in mind.” Jamie, I had found out by accident a few days previously, had never mastered the art of winking one eye. Instead, he blinked solemnly, like a large red owl.”
Diana Gabaldon, Outlander (375)
“I have never done you injustice. Please remember me,” said Dorothea, repressing a rising sob.
“Why should you say that?” said Will, with irritation. “As if I were not in danger of forgetting everything else.”
“Why should you say that?” said Will, with irritation. “As if I were not in danger of forgetting everything else.”
George Eliot, Middlemarch (624)
“Will paused, imagining that it would be impossible for Dorothea to misunderstand this; indeed he felt that he was contradicting himself and offending against his self-approval in speaking to her so plainly; but still—it could not be fairly called wooing a woman to tell her that he would never woo her. It must be admitted to be a ghostly kind of wooing.”
George Eliot, Middlemarch (623)
“Fred,” she said, peeping round to catch his eyes, which were sulkily turned away from her, “you are too delightfully ridiculous. If you were not such a charming simpleton, what a temptation this would be to play the wicked coquette, and let you suppose that somebody besides you has made love to me.”
George Eliot, Middlemarch (567)
“‘Tis better to have loved and lost
Than never to have loved at all.”
Than never to have loved at all.”
Alfred Tennyson, In Memoriam A.H.H.
“I took the best and cleverest man I had ever known,” said Mrs. Garth, convinced that she would never have loved any one who came short of that mark.”
George Eliot, Middlemarch (553)
“That loss is common would not make
My own less bitter, rather more:
Too common! Never morning wore
To evening, but some heart did break.”
My own less bitter, rather more:
Too common! Never morning wore
To evening, but some heart did break.”
Alfred Tennyson, In Memoriam A.H.H.
