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For the Intellect

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Lucy Carter

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“She wondered why happiness should be so acutely remembered when sorrow vanishes, like pain. Those brilliant tethered moments are seldom black. I was often miserable--but some kindly (or perverse) mechanism of the memory fades out all that, leaving quite other things, and hence an untruthful whole. We quarrelled, but all I have now of those quarrels is a pungent taste, not words nor phrases but a flavour: his silent back, my churning resentment.”

RelationshipsMemoriesLossGriefSorrowMourningQuarrelsBereavementMarriages
Book:Perfect Happiness
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“Ruth Bowers laid her hand, as she spoke, on Frances's arm and the physical contact was like a burn, distracting her totally. Two days after Steven's death she had lain in bed and thought, I shall never again feel someone else's arms round me, another person's body close up against mine, not sex, not nakedness, just physical closeness, often, casually, with another human being. And now the touch of others--Zoe's quick hugs, Tabitha's dutiful brushing of the cheek--had this disproportionate effect. To be touched was both a sacrilege and a joy.”

LossGriefMourningBereavementTouchClosenessPhysicalityPhysical Contact
Book:Perfect Happiness
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“Rasselas listened to him with the veneration due to the instructions of a superior being, and waiting for him at the door, humbly implored the liberty of visiting so great a master of true wisdom. The lecturer hesitated a moment, when Rasselas put a purse of gold into his hand, which he received with a mixture of joy and wonder. “I have found,” said the Prince at his return to Imlac, “a man who can teach all that is necessary to be known; who, from the unshaken throne of rational fortitude, looks down on the scenes of life changing beneath him. He speaks, and attention watches his lips. He reasons, and conviction closes his periods. This man shall be my future guide: I will learn his doctrines and imitate his life.” “Be not too hasty,” said Imlac, “to trust or to admire the teachers of morality: they discourse like angels, but they live like men.” Rasselas, who could not conceive how any man could reason so forcibly without feeling the cogency of his own arguments, paid his visit in a few days, and was denied admission. He had now learned the power of money, and made his way by a piece of gold to the inner apartment, where he found the philosopher in a room half darkened, with his eyes misty and his face pale. “Sir,” said he, “you are come at a time when all human friendship is useless; what I suffer cannot be remedied: what I have lost cannot be supplied. My daughter, my only daughter, from whose tenderness I expected all the comforts of my age, died last night of a fever. My views, my purposes, my hopes, are at an end: I am now a lonely being, disunited from society.” “Sir,” said the Prince, “mortality is an event by which a wise man can never be surprised: we know that death is always near, and it should therefore always be expected.” “Young man,” answered the philosopher, “you speak like one that has never felt the pangs of separation.” “Have you then forgot the precepts,” said Rasselas, “which you so powerfully enforced? Has wisdom no strength to arm the heart against calamity? Consider that external things are naturally variable, but truth and reason are always the same.” “What comfort,” said the mourner, “can truth and reason afford me? Of what effect are they now, but to tell me that my daughter will not be restored?” The Prince, whose humanity would not suffer him to insult misery with reproof, went away, convinced of the emptiness of rhetorical sounds, and the inefficacy of polished periods and studied sentences.”

LoveGriefMortalityLimits Of Philosophy
Book:The History of Rasselas, Prince of Abissinia Annotated
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“El duelo es un mar hecho de nuestras propias lágrimas. Las olas saladas cubren las oscuras profundidades por las que debemos bucear cada uno a nuestro ritmo. Fortalecerse lleva su tiempo. Había días en los que mis brazos cortaban el agua sin problemas y me parecía que todo saldría bien, que la orilla no estaba demasiado lejos. Y de pronto un recuerdo, un solo momento, casi me ahogaba. Entonces volvía al punto de partida y tenía que luchar con todas mis fuerzas para mantenerme en la superficie, agotada, hundiéndome en mi propio dolor.”

GriefDuelo
Book:The Paris Library
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