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Quote by Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu

“What was the power that induced strong soldiers to put off their jackets and shirts, and present their hands to be tied up, and tortured for hours, it might be, under the scourge, with an air of ready volition? The moral coercion of despair; the result of an unconscious calculation of chances that satisfies them that it is ultimately better to do all that, bad as it is, than try the alternative. These unconscious calculations are going on every day with each of us, and the results embody themselves in our lives; and no one knows that there has been a process and a balance struck, and that what they see, and very likely blame, is by the fiat of an invisible but quite irresistible power.”

Quote by Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu

Work

The Haunted Baronet and Others: Ghost Stories 1861-70

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Author

Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu
Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu

Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu was an Irish writer known for his Gothic novels and horror stories, whose works have had a profound impact on literature. more

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“And so, when the chips are down, I must say, though not without a sense of repugnance, that if you wish to show your belief in democracy, you also have to do so when you are in the minority, convinced both intellectually and, not least, in your innermost self, that the majority, in the name of democracy, is crushing everything you stand for and that means something to you, indeed, all that gives you the strength to endure, well, that gives a kind of meaning to your life, something that transcends your own fortuitous lot, one might say. When the heralds of democracy roar, triumphantly bawling out their vulgar victories day after day so that it really makes you suffer, as in my own case, you still have to accept it; I will not let anything else be said about me, he thought.”

“I was observing my own trial through a closed window, oddly indebted and drowning in despair as I watched her write about me. To be penned about is to be taken down memory lane, and that lane is a form of life. It did not matter whether her pen censured me or erased me. Even her hatred would prove that I had once been real to her. What scared me was not rejection, but love, for love would demand that I gather my broken self and stand beside her without dying.”