tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3383938214852108244.post4661678821361625763..comments2024-03-27T16:48:21.039-05:00Comments on Wuthering <br>Expectations: His rejected screech-owl OrationAmateur Reader (Tom)http://www.blogger.com/profile/13675275555757408496noreply@blogger.comBlogger1125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3383938214852108244.post-2359416467911705532007-09-26T16:51:00.000-05:002007-09-26T16:51:00.000-05:00I absolutely agree with your sentiment here -- it'...I absolutely agree with your sentiment here -- it's practically impossible to convince most people I know that it's this kind of thing that exists in the Classics, much less in a writer of the era and style embodied by Carlyle. I reread Herodotus whenever possible for those wonderful little snap- lines, like where he describes Artemisia as (and this is a losse translation, mind, you -- it's much funnier in the original) "really quite pretty, though that kind of sentiment would be likely to get you killed if you mentioned it to her." It's those little moments that make you feel, when you're reading Carlyle or Suetonius, Alcott or Catullus, that you're the holder of the most amazing secret...a secret that no one else particularly cares about...and it gives you a completely different relationship to books than you ever had while you were dutifully slogging through them in school.the designated knitterhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/13587192044297208064noreply@blogger.com