There rise authors now and then, who seem proof against the mutability of language, because they have rooted themselves in the unchanging principles of human nature.
Washington IrvingRead
The land of literature is a fairy land to those who view it at a distance, but, like all other landscapes, the charm fades on a nearer approach, and the thorns and briars become visible.
Interpretation
Literature appears enchanting from afar, but closer examination reveals its complexities and challenges.
Washington Irving's quote suggests that while literature may seem magical and idyllic when viewed from a distance, a closer look uncovers the struggles and imperfections within it. The beauty of storytelling and writing can sometimes mask the hard work, difficulties, and flaws that are inherent in the creative process, just as a beautiful landscape may hide its own obstacles.
In practice
In a book club discussion, one might say, 'As Irving pointed out, literature can seem magical until we dig deeper.'
There rise authors now and then, who seem proof against the mutability of language, because they have rooted themselves in the unchanging principles of human nature.
There is a sacredness in tears. They are not the mark of weakness, but of power. They speak more eloquently than ten thousand tongues. They are the messengers of overwhelming grief, of deep contrition, and of unspeakable love.
Sweet is the memory of distant friends! Like the mellow rays of the departing sun, it falls tenderly, yet sadly, on the heart.
Love is never lost. If not reciprocated, it will flow back and soften and purify the heart.
The easiest thing to do, whenever you fail, is to put yourself down by blaming your lack of ability for your misfortunes.
If I can, by a lucky chance, in these uneasy days, rub out one wrinkle from the brow of care, or beguile the heavy heart of one moment of sadness; if I can, how and then, prompt a happier view of human nature, and make my reader more in good humor with his fellow-beings and himself, surely, I shall not have written in vain.
I remember tearing up the first time I read Nabokov's description, in 'Speak, Memory,' of his father being tossed on a blanket by cheering muzhiks, with its astonishingly subtle foreshadowing of grief and mourning.
What Shakespeare was able to do in English he would certainly not have done in French.
Belief in one's identity as a poet or writer prior to the acid test of publication is as naive and harmless as the youthful belief in one's immortality... and the inevitable disillusionment is just as painful.
She doesn't do the things heroines are supposed to. Which is rather Jane Austen's point - Fanny is her subversive heroine. She is gentle and self-doubting and utterly feminine; and given the right circumstances, she would defy an army.
What is wonderful about great literature is that it transforms the man who reads it towards the condition of the man who wrote.
It seems to me that good novels celebrate the mystery in ordinary life, and summing it all up in psychological terms strips the mystery away
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