The Darkling Thrush by Thomas Hardy

By the century's deathbed

I leant upon a coppice gate
When Frost was spectre-gray,
And Winter’s dregs made desolate
The weakening eye of day.
The tangled bine-stems scored the sky
Like strings of broken lyres,
And all mankind that haunted nigh
Had sought their household fires.

The land’s sharp features seemed to be
The Century’s corpse outleant,
His crypt the cloudy canopy,
The wind his death-lament.
The ancient pulse of germ and birth
Was shrunken hard and dry,
And every spirit upon earth
Seemed fervourless as I.

At once a voice arose among
The bleak twigs overhead
In a full-hearted evensong
Of joy illimited;
An aged thrush, frail, gaunt, and small,
In blast-beruffled plume,
Had chosen thus to fling his soul
Upon the growing gloom.

So little cause for carolings
Of such ecstatic sound
Was written on terrestrial things
Afar or nigh around,
That I could think there trembled through
His happy good-night air
Some blessed Hope, whereof he knew
And I was unaware

(written in 1900)

Independence

"Size isn't everything by any means," he said aloud to the dog, as if suspecting her of entertaining high ideas. "Take my word for it, freedom is of more account than the height of a roof beam. I ought to know; mine cost me eighteen years' slavery. The man who lives on his own land is an independent man. He is his own master. If I can keep my sheep alive through the winter and can pay what has been stipulated from year to what -- then I pay what has been stipulated; and I have kept my sheep alive. No, it is freedom that we are all after, Titla. He who pays his way is a king.He who keeps his sheep alive through the winter lives in a palace."

From "Independent People" by Halldor Laxness

How true.

Ribbons

'If there were ten men insured against either weath or starvation, and offered a green ribbon for five hours' work a day and a blue ribbon for ten hours' work a day, nine out of ten of them would be trying for the blue ribbon. That competitive instinct only wants a badge. If the size of their house is the badge they'll sweat their heads off for that. If it's only a blue ribbon, I damn near believe they'll work just as hard.'

'To hold a man a woman has to appeal to the worst in him.'

From "This Side of Paradise" by F. Scott Fitzgerald

I like his expression.

Man

"I discovered that physical courage depends to a great extent on the physical shape a man is in. I found that I was as brave as the next man--it used to worry me before."
"What else?"
"Well, the idea that men can stand anything if they get used to it and the fact that I got a high mark in the psychological examination."

From "This Side of Paradise" by F. Scott Fitzgerald

A signpost

A week ago there was a day I felt a surge of energy in me after having breakfast with my granny and thoughts of carpe diem kind of returned, for a moment. This term has gone in a flash. I have been busy. Haven't learnt as much as I could have but I guess I have indeed stretched my timetable enough.

For that reason I have sadly abandoned this blog so long. I know there are a few good friends who still read this from time to time, so I should keep this up, to open my world up to you.

In order to encourage myself to read up the books on my shelves I've decided to add a literary element to this blog and cite some quotes :)

Quote for today:

'Women she detested. They represented qualities that she felt and despised in herself--incipient meanness, conceit, cowardise and petty dishonesty. She once told a roomful of her mother's friends that the only excuse for women was the necessity for a disturbing element among men.'

From 'This Side of Paradise' by Scott Fitzgerald

Reluctance, by Robert Frost

This poem is fantastic - it will probably capture my feeling when I leave oxford. These days various conversations have set me thinking, and a few lines have hit me quite hard. I guess I only need a bit more courage.

Reluctance

Out through the fields and the woods

And over the walls I have wended;

I have climbed the hills of view

And looked at the world, and descended;

I have come by the highway home,

And lo, it is ended.

The leaves are all dead on the ground,

Save those that the oak is keeping

To ravel them one by one

And let them go scraping and creeping

Out over the crusted snow,

When others are sleeping.

And the dead leaves lie huddled and still,

No longer blown hither and thither;

The last lone aster is gone;

The flowers of the witch hazel wither;

The heart is still aching to seek,

But the feet question "Whither?"

Ah, when to the heart of man

Was it ever less than a treason

To go with the drift of things,

To yield with a grace to reason,

And bow and accept the end

Of a love or a season?

Robert Frost

I wandered lonely as a cloud, by Wordsworth

I wandered lonely as a cloud:
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars
that shine and twinkle on the Milky Way,
They stretched in never-ending line
along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
in such a jocund company:
I gazed - and gazed - but little thought
what wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.