Thoreau - Just Another Blog From the Bog, or, Love - Just Another Victorian Interlude
Friday, May 06, 2005
Thoreau's Journal: 06-May-1854
All that a man has to say or do that can possibly concern mankind, is in some shape or other to tell the story of his love,—to sing; and, if he is fortunate and keeps alive, he will be forever in love. This alone is to be alive to the extremities. It is a pity that this divine creature should ever suffer from cold feet; a still greater pity that the coldness so often reaches to his heart. I look over the report of the doings of a scientific association and am surprised that there is so little life to be reported; I am put off with a parcel of dry technical terms. Anything living is easily and naturally expressed in popular language. I cannot help suspecting that the life of these learned professors has been almost as inhuman and wooden as a rain-gauge or self-registering magnetic machine. They communicate no fact which rises to the temperature of blood-heat. It doesn’t amount to one rhyme.
posted by Greg at 12:50 AM
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I don't care what anyone has to say, Thoreau's my guilty pleasure, that & Brainbuster which no one will play any more. Pity. But ole Henry, sans his Bones, give or take a hundred years ago, was never above the shovel, unless he was using it to muse over manure. (scroll down his blog to find him in the barn).
btw: fun thing to do while I'm away: CONTEST! Who was the world's first blogger? Any guesses? Keep em coming til tuesday ("For a hamburger today, I'll gladly pay you tuesday" ~the original Whimpy) & first person to guess my guess gets a signed copy of the hardbound first edition of my 5 new books coming out this fall from Wings Press, DRIVE: The First Quartet.
Thoreau's Journal: 06-May-1854
All that a man has to say or do that can possibly concern mankind, is in some shape or other to tell the story of his love,—to sing; and, if he is fortunate and keeps alive, he will be forever in love. This alone is to be alive to the extremities. It is a pity that this divine creature should ever suffer from cold feet; a still greater pity that the coldness so often reaches to his heart. I look over the report of the doings of a scientific association and am surprised that there is so little life to be reported; I am put off with a parcel of dry technical terms. Anything living is easily and naturally expressed in popular language. I cannot help suspecting that the life of these learned professors has been almost as inhuman and wooden as a rain-gauge or self-registering magnetic machine. They communicate no fact which rises to the temperature of blood-heat. It doesn’t amount to one rhyme.
posted by Greg at 12:50 AM
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I don't care what anyone has to say, Thoreau's my guilty pleasure, that & Brainbuster which no one will play any more. Pity. But ole Henry, sans his Bones, give or take a hundred years ago, was never above the shovel, unless he was using it to muse over manure. (scroll down his blog to find him in the barn).
btw: fun thing to do while I'm away: CONTEST! Who was the world's first blogger? Any guesses? Keep em coming til tuesday ("For a hamburger today, I'll gladly pay you tuesday" ~the original Whimpy) & first person to guess my guess gets a signed copy of the hardbound first edition of my 5 new books coming out this fall from Wings Press, DRIVE: The First Quartet.
posted by Lorna Dee Cervantes at 1:18 PM
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