Nothing is so real to me as the illusions I create with my painting. The rest is shifting sand.
— Eugène Delacroix
Grant, R. G., et al. Remarkable Diaries: The World’s Greatest Diaries, Journals, Notebooks, & Letters. United States, DK, 2020.
An online commonplace book
Nothing is so real to me as the illusions I create with my painting. The rest is shifting sand.
— Eugène Delacroix
Grant, R. G., et al. Remarkable Diaries: The World’s Greatest Diaries, Journals, Notebooks, & Letters. United States, DK, 2020.
In this period of my father’s life there are two things which it is impossible not to be struck with: one of them unfortunately a very common circumstance, the other a most uncommon one. The first is, that in his position, with no resource but the precarious one of writing in periodicals, he married and had a large family; conduct than which nothing could be more opposed, both as a matter of good sense and of duty, to the opinions which, at least at a later period of life, he strenuously upheld. The other circumstance, is the extraordinary energy which was required to lead the life he led, with the disadvantages under which he labored from the first, and with those which he brought upon himself by his marriage. It would have been no small thing, had he done no more than to support himself and his family during so many years by writing, without ever being in debt, or in any pecuniary difficulty; holding, as he did, opinions, both in politics and in religion, which were more odius to all persons of influence, and to the common run of prosperous Englishmen, in that generation than either before or since; and being not only a man whom nothing would have induced to write against his convictions, but one who invariably threw into everything he wrote, as much of his convictions as he thought the circumstances would in any way permit: being, it must also be said, one who never did anything negligently; never undertook any task, literary or other, on which he did not conscientiously bestow all the labor necessary for performing it adequately.
The Greek and Arithmetic lessons weren’t the only disciplines James taught John Stuart, it was the energy, the willing to take on more responsibility, and personal discipline that he modeled.
Mill, John Stuart. Autobiography. United Kingdom, Penguin Publishing Group, 1989.
Every faculty in one man is the measure by which he judges of the the like faculty in another. I judge of your sight by my sight, of your ear by my ear, of your reason by my reason, of your resentment by my resentment, of your love by my love. I neither have, nor can have, any other way of judging about them.
– Adam Smith
Smith, Adam. The Theory of Moral Sentiments. United Kingdom, Penguin Publishing Group, 2010.
Glory be to God for dappled things -
For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow;
For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim;
Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; finches' wings;
Landscape plotted and pieced -- fold, fallow, and plough;
And áll trádes, their gear and tackle and trim.
All things counter, original, spare, strange;
Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?)
With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim;
He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change:
Praise him.
Keeping with the thankfulness theme. This time from Gerard Manley Hopkins.
The two lines that hang in my mind are:
Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; finches’ wings
and
And áll trádes, their gear and tackle and trim.
The first is a picture of fall changing into winter. Chestnuts and finches wings, the colors of both depict fall. While the firecoal indicates that the temperature is dropping.
The second is, and I don’t think it’s what Hopkins intended, but I picture a tackle box and fishing gear sitting on the floor of a boat.
Hopkins, Gerard Manley. Poems and Prose (Everyman’s Library Pocket Poets). United Kingdom, Everyman, 1995. pp15
Thanks in old age - thanks ere I go,
For health, the midday sun, the impalpable air - for life,
mere life,
For precious ever-lingering memories, (of you my mother
dear - you, father - you, brothers, sisters, friends,)
For all my days - not those of peace alone - the days of war
the same,
For gentle words, caresses, gifts from foreign lands,
For shelter, wine and meat - for sweet appreciation,
(You distant, dim unknown - or young or old - countless,
unspecified, readers belov'd,
We never met, and ne'er shall meet - and yet our souls embrace, long, close and long;)
For beings, groups, love, deeds, words, books - for colors,
forms,
For all the brave strong men - devoted, hardy men -
who've forward sprung in freedom's help, all years, all
lands,
For braver, stronger, more devoted men - (a special laurel
ere I go, to life's war's chosen ones,
The cannoneers of song and thought - the great artillerists -
the foremost leaders, captains of the soul 🙂
As soldier from an ended war return'd - As traveler out of
myriads, to the long procession retrospective,
Thanks - joyful thanks! - a soldier's, traveler's thanks.
Mr. Whitman covers it all. He’s even thankful for his unknown readers – love that.
The title of the poem is Thanks in Old Age, but these are things we could all be thankful for at any age.
Happy Thanksgiving gentle readers. I’m thankful for you.
Whitman, Walt. The Complete Poems. United Kingdom, Penguin Books Limited, 2004.
Capra is the last survivor of that great quartet of American comedy; Leo McCarey, Ernst Lubitsch, and Preston Sturges. An Italian, born in Palermo, he brought to Hollywood the secrets of the commedia dell’arte. He was a navigator who knew how to steer his characters into the deepest dimensions of desperate human situations (I have often wept during the tragic moments of Capra’s comedies) before he reestablished a balance and brought off the the miracle that let us leave the theater with a renewed confidence in life.
François Truffaut, 1974
Truffaut describes the brilliance of Frank Capra with precision. When you finish watching a Frank Capra film, you absolutely feel a renewed confidence in life.
Truffaut, François. The films in my life. New York, Hachette Books, 1994.
In like manner, almost all the fictions of the last age will vanish, if you deprive them of a hermit and a wood, a battle and a shipwreck.
– Samuel Johnson
Building on this from yesterday. Here Samuel Johnson claims one of the qualities writers of this time were lacking was “real-world” experience. The need for getting out of “solitary diligence” and shoving their hands in the mud.
The task of our present writers is very different; it requires, together with that learning which is to be gained from books, that experience which can never be attained by solitary diligence, but must arise from general converse, and accurate observation of the living world. Their performances have, as Horace expresses it, plus oneris quantum veniae minus, 5 little indulgence, and therefore more difficulty. They are engaged in portraits of which every one knows the original, and can detect any deviation from exactness of resemblance. Other writings are safe, except from the malice of learning, but these are in danger from every common reader; as the slipper ill executed was censured by a shoemaker who happened to stop in his way at the Venus of Apelles. 6
Samuel Johnson
Cracking Samuel Johnson is a fistfight. One needs assistance to punch through. Chat GPT4 was my tag team partner, leading me to the Rambler, No. 4.
A prompt below:


RAMBLER, No. 4 was a shorter essay than I expected. It’s a good entry point to Samuel Johnson. My initial interpretation is he’s criticizing the novel writing of his day. It needs a second read.
Steady thy laden head across a brook; Or by a cider-press, with patient look, Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours. Keats, John. The Poetry of John Keats. London: Arcturus Publishing Limited, 2018.