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TALES OF AN ORANGEPEELER

an archive of pleasures, wounds, sublimations
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05.03.11


From A Room with a View by EM Forster:



'I only know what it is that's wrong with him; not why it is.'

'And what is it?' asked Lucy fearfully, expecting some harrowing tale.

'The old trouble: things won't fit.'

'What things?'

'The things of the universe. It is quite true. They don't.'

'Oh, Mr Emerson, what ever do you mean?'

In his ordinary voice, so that she scarcely realized he was quoting poetry, he said:

'From afar, from eve and morning
And yon twelve-winded sky,
The stuff of life to knit me
Blew hither: here am I.

George and I both know this, but why does it distress him? We know that we come from the winds, and that we shall return to them; that all life is perhaps a knot, a tangle, a blemish in the eternal smoothness. But why should this make us unhappy? Let us rather love one another, and work and rejoice. I don't believe in this world-sorrow.'




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