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Lonely Cottage

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  “Among the few features of agricultural England which retain an appearance but little modified by the lapse of centuries, may be reckoned the high, grassy and furzy downs, coombs, or ewe-leases, as they are indifferently called, that fill a large area of certain counties in the south and south-west. If any mark of human occupation is met with hereon, it usually takes the form of the solitary cottage of some shepherd. Fifty years ago such a lonely cottage stood on such a down, and may possibly be standing there now. In spite of its loneliness, however, the spot, by actual measurement, was not more than five miles from a county-town. Yet that affected it little. Five miles of irregular upland, during the long inimical seasons, with their sleets, snows, rains, and mists, afford withdrawing space enough to isolate a Timon or a Nebuchadnezzar; much less, in fair weather, to please that less repellent tribe, the poets, philosophers, artists, and others who “conceive and meditate of ple...
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When I, In Awesome Wonder

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  “Look! are not the fields covered with a delightful verdure? Is there not something in the woods and groves, in the rivers and clear springs, that soothes, that delights, that transports the soul? At the prospect of the wide and deep ocean, or some huge mountain whose top is lost in the clouds, or of an old gloomy forest, are not our minds filled with a pleasing horror? Even in rocks and deserts is there not an agreeable wildness? How sincere a pleasure is it to behold the natural beauties of the earth! To preserve and renew our relish for them, is not the veil of night alternately drawn over her face, and doth she not change her dress with the seasons? How aptly are the elements disposed!” George Berkeley (1685–1753).  “Three Dialogues Between Hylas and Philonous in Opposition to Sceptics and Atheists.”
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My Happy Place

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  “The floor was carpetless. The whitewashed walls were in parts scrawled over with strange diagrams, and in others covered with shelves crowded with philosophical instruments, the uses of many of which were unknown to me. On one side of the fireplace, stood a bookcase filled with dingy folios; on the other, a small organ, fantastically decorated with painted carvings of medieval saints and devils. Through the half-opened door of a cupboard at the further end of the room, I saw a long array of geological specimens, surgical preparations, crucibles, retorts, and jars of chemicals; while on the mantelshelf beside me, amid a number of small objects, stood a model of the solar system, a small galvanic battery, and a microscope. Every chair had its burden. Every corner was heaped high with books. The very floor was littered over with maps, casts, papers, tracings, and learned lumber of all conceivable kinds.” “The Phantom Coach” By Amelia Edwards (1831–1892)
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“ Alack, alack the day!”

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  Lear .  If thou wilt weep my fortunes, take my eyes.  I know thee well enough; thy name is Gloucester.  Thou must be patient; we came crying hither. Thou know’st, the first time that we smell the air,  We wawl and cry.  I will preach to thee; mark.  Glou .    Alack, alack the day!  Lear .  When we are born, we cry that we are come  To this great stage of fools . . .  ____________ Shakespeare, The Tragedy of King Lear. Act 4, Scene 6 (Shakespeare died April 23, 1616.)
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I Can’t Stop Thinking Big

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“In a world where I feel so small I can’t stop thinking big” (Rush) “What was after the universe? Nothing. But was there anything round the universe to show where it stopped before the nothing place began? It could not be a wall; but there could be a thin thin line there all round everything. It was very big to think about everything and everywhere. Only God could do that. He tried to think what a big thought that must be; but he could only think of God. God was God's name just as his name was Stephen. DIEU was the French for God and that was God's name too; and when anyone prayed to God and said DIEU then God knew at once that it was a French person that was praying. But, though there were different names for God in all the different languages in the world and God understood what all the people who prayed said in their different languages, still God remained always the same God and God's real name was God.” James Joyce, “A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man” (1916)
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Read Literature, Learn an Age

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  “The discovery has been made that a literary work is not a mere play of the imagination, the isolated caprice of an excited brain, but a transcript of contemporary manners and customs and the sign of a particular state of intellect. The conclusion derived from this is that, through literary monuments, we can retrace the way in which men felt and thought many centuries ago.” Hippolyte Adolphe Taine (1863) “Introduction to the History of English Literature”
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Free Bird

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  “. . . A light broke in upon my brain,—  It was the carol of a bird;  It ceased, and then it came again,  The sweetest song ear ever heard,  And mine was thankful till my eyes  Ran over with the glad surprise,  And they that moment could not see  I was the mate of misery.  But then by dull degrees came back  My senses to their wonted track;  I saw the dungeon walls and floor  Close slowly round me as before,  I saw the glimmer of the sun  Creeping as it before had done,  But through the crevice where it came  That bird was perched, as fond and tame,  And tamer than upon the tree;  A lovely bird, with azure wings,  And song that said a thousand things,  And seemed to say them all for me!  I never saw its like before,  I ne’er shall see its likeness more;  It seemed like me to want a mate,  But was not half so desolate,  And it was come to love me when  None ...
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Concord Hymn

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Photo: Kirk Heflin BY the rude bridge that arched the flood,  Their flag to April’s breeze unfurled,  Here once the embattled farmers stood  And fired the shot heard round the world.  The foe long since in silence slept;  Alike the conqueror silent sleeps;  And Time the ruined bridge has swept  Down the dark stream which seaward creeps. On this green bank, by this soft stream,  We set to-day a votive stone;  That memory may their deed redeem,  When, like our sires, our sons are gone.  Spirit, that made those heroes dare  To die, and leave their children free,  Bid Time and Nature gently spare  The shaft we raise to them and thee. Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803–1882) (The Battle of Concord was fought on April 19, 1775, the start of the American Revolutionary War)
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Work

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 I LOVE it when I find source material! “ It always does seem to me that I am doing more work than I should do. It is not that I object to the work, mind you; I like work: it fascinates me. I can sit and look at it for hours. I love to keep it by me: the idea of getting rid of it nearly breaks my heart.” Jerome K. Jerome, “Three Men In A Boat (To Say Nothing of the Dog)” Ch. 15 (1889)
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The Hellfire Club

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  “Just past the weir (going up) is Danes’ Field, where the invading Danes once encamped, during their march to Gloucestershire; and a little further still, nestling by a sweet corner of the stream, is what is left of Medmenham Abbey.   The famous Medmenham monks, or “Hell Fire Club,” as they were commonly called, and of whom the notorious Wilkes was a member, were a fraternity whose motto was “Do as you please,” and that invitation still stands over the ruined doorway of the abbey. Many years before this bogus abbey, with its congregation of irreverent jesters, was founded, there stood upon this same spot a monastery of a sterner kind, whose monks were of a somewhat different type to the revellers that were to follow them, five hundred years afterwards.  The Cistercian monks, whose abbey stood there in the thirteenth century, wore no clothes but rough tunics and cowls, and ate no flesh, nor fish, nor eggs. They lay upon straw, and they rose at midnight to mass. They spen...
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Margaret’s Song

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  There was a king in Thule,  True even to the grave;  To whom his dying mistress  A golden beaker gave.  At every feast he drained it,  Naught was to him so dear,  And often as he drained it,  Gush’d from his eyes the tear.  When death came, unrepining  His cities o’er he told;  All to his heir resigning,  Except his cup of gold.  With many a knightly vassal  At a royal feast sat he,  In yon proud hall ancestral,  In his castle o’er the sea.  Up stood the jovial monarch,  And quaff’d his last life’s glow,  Then hurled the hallow’d goblet  Into the flood below.  He saw it splashing, drinking,  And plunging in the sea;  His eyes meanwhile were sinking,  And never again drank he. “Margaret’s Song” by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749–1832) in “Faust. Part I.”
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No Room

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  “Very sorry, sir,” again repeated the landlord: “but we really haven’t got a bed vacant in the whole house. In fact, we are putting two, and even three gentlemen in one bed, as it is.”  This staggered us for a bit. But Harris, who is an old traveller, rose to the occasion, and, laughing cheerily, said: “Oh, well, we can’t help it. We must rough it. You must give us a shake-down in the billiard-room.”  “Very sorry, sir. Three gentlemen sleeping on the billiard-table already, and two in the coffee-room. Can’t possibly take you in to-night.” Jerome K. Jerome, “Three Men In A Boat (To Say Nothing of the Dog)” Ch. 12 (1889) Artwork by Grok
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The Wall

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“What a dear old wall that is that runs along by the river there! I never pass it without feeling better for the sight of it. Such a mellow, bright, sweet old wall; what a charming picture it would make, with the lichen creeping here, and the moss growing there, a shy young vine peeping over the top at this spot, to see what is going on upon the busy river, and the sober old ivy clustering a little farther down! There are fifty shades and tints and hues in every ten yards of that old wall. . . . It looks so peaceful and so quiet, and it is such a dear old place to ramble round in the early morning before many people are about.” Jerome K. Jerome, “Three Men In A Boat (To Say Nothing of the Dog)” Ch. 6 (1889)
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The Prized Treasures

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  “Will the prized treasures of today always be the cheap trifles of the day before? Will rows of our willow-pattern dinner-plates be ranged above the chimneypieces of the great in the years 2000 and odd? Will the white cups with the gold rim and the beautiful gold flower inside (species unknown), that our Sarah Janes now break in sheer light-heartedness of spirit, be carefully mended, and stood upon a bracket, and dusted only by the lady of the house? . . . .   The “sampler” that the eldest daughter did at school will be spoken of as “tapestry of the Victorian era,” and be almost priceless. The blue-and-white mugs of the present-day roadside inn will be hunted up, all cracked and chipped, and sold for their weight in gold, and rich people will use them for claret cups; and travellers from Japan will buy up all the “Presents from Ramsgate,” and “Souvenirs of Margate,” that may have escaped destruction, and take them back to Jedo as ancient English curios.” Jerome K. Jerome, “T...
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Late Spring, Early Summer

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“It was a glorious morning, late spring or early summer, as you care to take it, when the dainty sheen of grass and leaf is blushing to a deeper green; and the year seems like a fair young maid, trembling with strange, wakening pulses on the brink of womanhood.” Jerome K. Jerome, “Three Men In A Boat (To Say Nothing of the Dog)”  Ch. 6 (1889)
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