Wednesday, March 29, 2006

I hereby declare a moratorium on post titles, unless I have something clever. Which will never happen. Although I might get annoyed with how previous posts are being listed on the sidebar if I don't give them titles.

From George Eliot's Romola:
"I am somewhat late with my siesta on this hot day, it seems. That comes of not going to sleep in the natural way, but taking a potion of potent poesy. Hear you, how I am beginning to match my words by the initial letter, like a Trovatore? That is one of my bad symptoms: I am sorely afraid that the good wine of my understanding is going to run off at the spigot of authorship, and I shall be left an empty cask with an odour of dregs, like many another incomparable genius of my acquaintance."
And:
The conjuror was going on, when a loud chattering behind warned him that an unpleasant crisis had arisen with his monkey.
I'm so glad I started reading George Eliot again.

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