I have made myself a book. More correctly, a journal.
On the cover, my current favorite quote. I got the typewriter in my hall to work long enough to, literally, bang it out. “I desire to press into my arms a loveliness that has not yet come into this world.” How beautiful is that? It stops me every time I read it. In the last few days of the term, I re-read and re-read the final scene from Portrait. So much of that feel like my life right now.
Stephen’s fears, his desires, all feel so familiar. Well, his fears about God and his desire to write. He tells Cranly “what he does not fear.” — That is exactly what I fear. Being alone. More than that, I fear mistakes.
I’ve written about this before, and recently, but it’s just what’s been on my mind. Portrait and Persuasion. Granted, these are the two books I have been reading/referencing most frequently. But they feel particularly apt. In six years, I will be Anne’s age. Though I am past Stephen’s, I feel I am right in his mental space. I always wonder how and why books worm their way into my life. These two most certainly. have.
I have been thinking a lot about this quote from Persuasion:
…there could have been no two hearts so open, no tastes so similar, no feelings so in unison, no countenances so beloved. Now they were as strangers; nay, worse than strangers, for they could never become acquainted. It was a perpetual estrangement.
How sad, to be perpetually estranged. And yet, how much I feel it, even in — actually, especially in — my own home. I feel like I am a stranger to those around me, and even to myself. Strange to those who once knew me intimately, who I trusted beyond belief, who I let know me. Now, I’m not even sure I know me. I feel so far away from acquaintance, so far away from most things formerly familiar, that I don’t even know what to do with myself.