A Michael Scott moment to add a smile to your day.
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Monday, June 20, 2011
Wild and Free as the Willows
I recently went to a book sale and bought a book called, "Princess of the Moor" by E. Marlitt. To be honest, I had initially judged the book by its cover and I thought it would be interesting since the cover had a portrait of a young woman from a couple centuries ago. What really got me, however, was the inscription on the first page of the book:
To Cecil
from
Mildred H
Dec. 25, 1913
This little note seemed quite charming to a closet romantic, like myself.
This is all really besides the point. As I was reading this book, I came to the end of the first chapter and was so captivated by the closing paragraph that I read it several times. As I continued reading, I kept returning to this section just to reread it--to be drawn in once more by the beautiful language that the author had chosen. If nothing else than for the sake of recognizing the author's genius in this particular section, I thought I would include the portion in this blog post. As I share it with you, I realize that it will most likely mean very little to you as you have not read the pages leading up to this portion. Nevertheless, I hope that you take this opportunity to consider the language of the section.
"It was thus I grew up, wild and free as the willows beside the stream, and as I stood there under the old pine, barefooted and clad in a coarse, short petticoat, the evening breeze playing in my wavy hair, I laughed--laughed aloud at the young dandy who had sought out the soft turf for his dainty boots, and incased his white hands in leather--that was my revenge" (p. 29).
To Cecil
from
Mildred H
Dec. 25, 1913
This little note seemed quite charming to a closet romantic, like myself.
This is all really besides the point. As I was reading this book, I came to the end of the first chapter and was so captivated by the closing paragraph that I read it several times. As I continued reading, I kept returning to this section just to reread it--to be drawn in once more by the beautiful language that the author had chosen. If nothing else than for the sake of recognizing the author's genius in this particular section, I thought I would include the portion in this blog post. As I share it with you, I realize that it will most likely mean very little to you as you have not read the pages leading up to this portion. Nevertheless, I hope that you take this opportunity to consider the language of the section.
"It was thus I grew up, wild and free as the willows beside the stream, and as I stood there under the old pine, barefooted and clad in a coarse, short petticoat, the evening breeze playing in my wavy hair, I laughed--laughed aloud at the young dandy who had sought out the soft turf for his dainty boots, and incased his white hands in leather--that was my revenge" (p. 29).
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
