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get thee to a nunnery

Another thing that i just 'know' is that Shakespeare is the fountain of all wisdom.

It may be evident that i have had an odd upbringing. My mother, voracious reader and eager historian, fed me from an early age from a diet of poems, plays, novels and histories. I read Elizabeth 1 by David Starkey when i was 6 years old, and from then on held a strange fascination with middle age English history, including Eleanor of aquitaine, Isabella of France and the Tudors themselves.

In terms of literature nothing was out of bounds for my mother, Jane Austen was (and still is) my favourite author when i was in year 2, from then she had me reading Hamlet, Evelyn Waugh, The Forsyte Saga and Elizabeth Gaskell. Some people have asked me whether i was angry that she robbed me of years of reading fairy stories and animal fables. SHe didn't. I read those too.

I actually thank her, from the bottom of my heart, for turning me into the person i am today. This deep passion for english and literature and words was all thanks to her, and so i am truly grateful.

But back onto shakespeare. She taught me that he is the fountain of all wisdom. That everything can be related back to him, he has something to say on every subject, and not only does he say it better than people today, but he says it in old English. the man kicks elizabethan ass!

Some of my favourite shakespeare quotes;

'All the worlds a stage, and all the men and women merely players.' As you like it (one of my favourite plays)

'the lady doth protest too much, methinks.' Hamlet

'once more unto the breach dear friends, once more.' Henry V

'uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.' King Lear

'though this be madness, there is method in it.' Hamlet

'Frailty, thy name is woman!' Hamlet (though i change it, naturally, to that of the opposite sex)

'A plague on both your houses' Rome and Juliet CLASSIC!

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the true meaning of a broken heart

when i was distraught and at the lowest of the low my education and mother pointed towards the bookshelf and a dusty old collection of lord byron poems. It was to be my first foray into Byron, and he would teach me how to nurse a broken heart. It wasn't my first venture in the romantics, Keats, Coleridge, Wordsworth and Yeats and even a smattering of Shelley had been sampled before, in small dosages of course, as the romantics are best tasted that way.

But my broken heart, buckets of tears and shattered hopes and dreams found no greater solace, no greater comfort than in the words of that rapacious rogue. Oh! How i wish i could have known him in real life. I have these ideas about him, the kind of man he would have been.

I'm not even sure if the romantics are my favourite poems. I am, as yet, undecided. but i must say, there are just these things that i KNOW. and one of them is that Byron taught me how to piece together my broken heart. Thankyou.

When we two parted
In silence and tears,
Half broken-hearted
To sever for years,
Pale grew thy cheek and cold,
Colder thy kiss;
Truly that hour foretold
Sorrow to this.

The dew of the morning
Sunk chill on my brow--
It felt like the warning
Of what I feel now.
Thy vows are all broken,
And light is thy fame;
I hear thy name spoken,
And share in its shame.

They name thee before me,
A knell to mine ear;
A shrudder comes o'er me--
Why wert thou so dear?
They know not I knew thee,
Who knew thee so well--
Long, long I shall rue thee,
Too deeply to tell.

In secret we met--
In silence I grieve,
That thy heart could forget,
Thy spirit deceive
If I should meet thee
After long years,
How should I greet thee?--
With silence and tears.

When we two parted, Lord Byron

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We'll always have Paris

Paris in Janvier? School will be finished, a few months before i have to buckle down for uni.. I'm thinking it might not be such a bad idea. Pas mauvais, du tout. I've been wanting to go for some time now, so if i buckle down and actually do some work that might be a nice way to reward myself.

Paris. It's one of my favourite places on earth. Along with Bath. Bath seems like an odd choice, yes i know. But i just love it so much. It's probably the history and the beautiful buildings. I like to fancy myself a little jAne Austen, wandering the streets. I know she hated it there and preferred the country, but still...

Hemmingway said Paris is a moveable feast. Paris to me is a rustling of taffeta. Don't ask me why. I always thought if Versailles was a fabric it would be silk, and if Paris was a fabric it would be taffeta. Bath would be crinoline. I can't wait to go to Paris! J'arrive, j'arrive!

'Dare not say that man forgets sooner than woman, that his love has an earlier death. I have loved none but you. Unjust I may have been, weak and resentful I have been, but never inconstant. You alone have brought me to Bath. For you alone, I think and plan. Have you not seen this? Can you fail to have understood my wishes?'

Jane Austen, Persuasion

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but i am far gone in age and decrepitude

Loveliest of trees, the cherry now
Is hung with bloom along the bough,
And stands about the woodland ride
Wearing white for Eastertide.

Now, of my threescore years and ten,
Twenty will not come again,
And take from seventy springs a score,
It only leaves me fifty more.

And since to look at things in bloom
Fifty springs are little room,
About the woodlands I will go
To see the cherry hung with snow.

A.E Housman, 1896

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though this be madness, there is method in it.

The most wonderful thing about laptops is that you can take them anywhere. They're kind of like books in that sense i suppose. And with this new blog thing they can be this generations diary. Not that this is a diary. Just a collections of musings i suppose. No-one will probably ever read this. I don't care. Sometimes i just need to write and write and let it all out.

Everyone whose ever read any of my writings says to me that i need to calm down a little, stop being so melodramatic, and just let the words flow, not interrupting the natural progression of sentences, phrases and verbs with unecessary adjectives. Well, i'll try, i suppose. I just like adjectives. I suppose they're my thing.

It's sunday. It's hot, but not unbearably so. I'm going to go to the art gallery to see the portraits today. I'll write about it when i get back.

i'm going to write until i capture the castle.

'to see a world in a grain of sand
And heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand
And eternity in an hour.'

William Black, auguries of innocence.

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published work

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