About stories of all kinds
Two-hundred and five years ago today, January 17, 1820, the third Brontë sister was born. Named Anne, she, like her older sisters, first published under a male pseudonym: Acton Bell. She worked as a governess as well as writing poetry and novels. She wrote two novels, Agnes Grey and The Tenant of Wildfell Hall, the… Continue reading “pretended to be deeply absorbed”
No, the title isn't a typo for "memory," though perhaps that would also be appropriate: I have for you today a Bloomsday Meme/Quote. June 16, 1904 is the setting for all 265,222 words of James Joyce's Ulysses: 120 years ago today. As a milestone anniversary, I can't very well let it go by without posting… Continue reading Bloomsday Memery: 120th Anniversary of the Events of Ulysses
To all humankind besides, Tess was only a passing thought. Even to friends she was no more than a frequently passing thought. Tess of the D’Urbervilles Ever wondered what other people think about you? Or who thinks about you? Or how often? It’s not really a profitable use of time, but it’s natural to wonder… Continue reading ‘Passing thought’
Mr. Grewgious in the meantime sat upright, with no expression in his face, and a hard kind of imperturbably polite protest all over him: as though he would have said, in reply to some invitation to discourse; ‘I couldn’t originate the faintest approach to an observation on any subject whatever, I thank you.’The Mystery of… Continue reading ‘Imperturbably polite protest’
“I feel very strongly about putting questions; it partakes too much of the style of the day of judgment. You start a question, and it’s like starting a stone. You sit quietly on the top of a hill; and away the stone goes, starting others; and presently some bland old bird (the last you would… Continue reading “Like starting a stone”
“[T]he besetting sin of a philanthropist, it appears to me, is apt to be a moral obliquity. His sense of honor ceases to be the sense of other honorable men. At some point of his course...he is tempted to palter with the right, and can scarcely forbear persuading himself that the importance of his public… Continue reading “The importance of his public ends”
Dying was nothing and he had no picture of it nor fear of it in his mind. But living was a field of grain blowing in the wind on the side of a hill. Living was a hawk in the sky. Living was an earthen jar of water in the dust of the threshing with… Continue reading ‘Blowing in the wind’
Wamba the Fool is pretty much my favourite character in Ivanhoe. He just gets to put everyone else and their idiocy on blast with complete immunity himself.
Therefore, if we built splendid castles... and pictured beautiful scenes, among the fervid coals of the hearth round which we were clustering, and if all went to rack with the crumbling embers, and have never since arisen out of the ashes, let us take to ourselves no shame. In my own behalf, I rejoice that… Continue reading ‘Let us take to ourselves no shame’
One official sent her to another, and the other sent her back again to the first, and so backward and forward; until it appeared to me as if both must have been appointed for their skill in evading their duties, instead of performing them. Bleak House by Charles Dickens Bleak House by Charles Dickens, Collector’s… Continue reading ‘And so backward and forward’
Fictitiously Yours 