No, it was of no use - I had not changed, and never would.
There was a soft spot in my nature, a strain of weakness, a
sensitivity that would never harden. All that I longed, and
had striven, to be - cool and stoical, detached and aloof, a
true Spartan - was beyond me. Marked ineradicably by my
singular childhood, by an upbringing in which too many women
had participated, I was, and always would be, the victim of
every sentient mood, the unwilling slave of my own emotions.
The last few lines of A Song of Sixpence by AJ Cronin, my most favourite writer in the whole world. Possibly because of these lines itself. It rains today. And I sit here trying very hard to shrug it all off and slowly, calmly collect the scattered pieces.
5 hours ago
9 comments:
I see why you’re enamored! It is as if a mirror had been placed before you. And you are a handsome devil what with all of your private "failings"—your shortages and abundances of qualities being reversed—and you failing to see their attractiveness as your own ;-)
strange. i am just back from hyd and i found an old cronin lying unread. picked it up for you if u don't have it.
I can SO see why you like these lines (and its author).
I would have beleived it if you told me that YOU wrote it! :)
No one, I repeat, no one is more "an unwilling slave of my own emotions" than me! So don't you try and compete ;)
AJ Cronin.....the Citadel?
haven't read much of his work, really. just a short story we had for class.
those lines, they're...you.
yes, rainy days are perfect for playing with stubborn, asymmetrical jigsaws.
calmly, if you insist :)
strange..AJC was my grandmother's favourite writer too.
are we all enslaved in some way or the other, more by the mind?
how have you been?
mmmm
Post a Comment