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/lit/ - Literature


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File: 102 KB, 208x281, Thomas Carlyle.png [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]
21753028 No.21753028 [Reply] [Original]

But for me, so strangely unprosperous had I been, the net-result of my Workings amounted as yet simply to—Nothing. How then could I believe in my Strength, when there was as yet no mirror to see it in? Ever did this agitating, yet, as I now perceive, quite frivolous question, remain to me insoluble: Hast thou a certain Faculty, a certain Worth, such even as the most have not; or art thou the completest Dullard of these modern times? Alas, the fearful Unbelief is unbelief in yourself; and how could I believe? Had not my first, last Faith in myself, when even to me the Heavens seemed laid open, and I dared to love, been all too cruelly belied? The speculative Mystery of Life grew ever more mysterious to me: neither in the practical Mystery had I made the slightest progress, but been everywhere buffeted, foiled, and contemptuously cast out. A feeble unit in the middle of a threatening Infinitude, I seemed to have nothing given me but eyes, whereby to discern my own wretchedness. Invisible yet impenetrable walls, as of Enchantment, divided me from all living: was there, in the wide world, any true bosom I could press trustfully to mine? O Heaven, No, there was none! I kept a lock upon my lips: why should I speak much with that shifting variety of so-called Friends, in whose withered, vain and too-hungry souls Friendship was but an incredible tradition? In such cases, your resource is to talk little, and that little mostly from the Newspapers. Now when I look back, it was a strange isolation I then lived in. The men and women around me, even speaking with me, were but Figures; I had, practically, forgotten that they were alive, that they were not merely automatic. In the midst of their crowded streets and assemblages, I walked solitary; and (except as it was my own heart, not another's, that I kept devouring) savage also, as the tiger in his jungle. Some comfort it would have been, could I, like a Faust, have fancied myself tempted and tormented of the Devil; for a Hell, as I imagine, without Life, though only diabolic Life, were more frightful: but in our age of Down-pulling and Disbelief, the very Devil has been pulled down, you cannot so much as believe in a Devil. To me the Universe was all void of Life, of Purpose, of Volition, even of Hostility: it was one huge, dead, immeasurable Steam-engine, rolling on, in its dead indifference, to grind me limb from limb. Oh, the vast, gloomy, solitary Golgotha, and Mill of Death! Why was the Living banished thither companionless, conscious? Why, if there is no Devil; nay, unless the Devil is your God?

>> No.21753062

>>21753028
What's the point of this thread?
It's just a long quote probably an entire page from a book copied and pasted then posted for apparently no reason at all.

>> No.21753120

>>21753028
What a handsome lad

>> No.21753161
File: 19 KB, 378x378, 0d5.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]
21753161

>What's the point of this thread?
It's just a long quote probably an entire page from a book copied and pasted then posted for apparently no reason at all.

>> No.21753171

>>21753028
I struggle to master the energy to read Carlyle's writing. I've read The French revolution, which was fine, but I just feel it's too much. An antiquated form of writing non-fiction for an age where the opportunity cost of reading such low info density texts were lower. As fiction? Fine. The complexity and verve of the prose is part of the purpose, and the possibly meaningless meanderings are part of the intention to read the fictitious work in the first place. But how can I bother to read this (especially with no paragraphs which would hurt my eyes if I read it)?

>> No.21753669

>>21753171
it's so over

>> No.21753761

>>21753028
let's all agree to format our posts so they're readable today and put that reddit spacing nonsense behind us

>> No.21753770

>>21753028
>Invisible yet impenetrable walls, as of Enchantment, divided me from all living: was there, in the wide world, any true bosom I could press trustfully to mine? O Heaven, No, there was none!
Literally me

>> No.21753798

>>21753028
Thoughts on Sartor Resartus?