"How she hated words, always coming between her and life: they did the ravishing, if anything did: ready-made words and phrases, sucking all the life-sap out of living things."
Yes okay fine, i've been reading Lady Chatterley's Lover. Yet, amid all the erotica there seems to be a search, if not frail existence, of tenderness that kind of moves me. Why can't Heathcliffs and hot stable boys (yeah, stable boy, gamekeeper, lady, princess- same difference) exist in real life? Dr. Ang said something about the paradox of modern age: people of the renaissance actually sought to create ruins in their own backyard because while they loved the convenience of modernisation, there was always this nagging feeling that the contemporary age held nothing but a colourless kind of reason. Basically, the search for history is a search for character and a kind of romance, mainly because (I feel) the past is so unattainable (whereas the future and present is what is to come and what is already here) that we try to recapture that loss, and that entails more loss.
Hot piece of the day:
Walpole's Strawberry Hill library, a gothic mansion in the 18th century done in the style of 12th and 15th century gothicism. For all students out there, I'm sure you can relate to me when i talk about the inferior essay syndrome. It happens when you're halfway through an essay/ staring at two words and a blinking cursor/ writing a hasty conclusion, and you realise the essay itself, along with your uncertain superfluous inadequate and utterly off-the-mark moronic words, are all mocking you and going, ah. you are so out of your league!
I hate political science.
Quote of the day-
Nick: what's that book? Ladybird Chatterbox?
Ping: oh so that's not the part yet? i thought the chickens were 'chickens'.
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