At the end of the year, deep in mid-winter, night falls early in Copenhagen. Along with Rosenborggade, lamplight and firelight and candlelight fill the upper windows by four o’clock. Passers-by who brave the cold streets glimpse Christmas trees in glowing rooms, hear snatches of songs and children’s laughter. Kierkegaard’s rooms are quiet, and he is alone. ‘1848 has raised me to another level,’ he writes in his journal: ‘it has shattered me religiously; God has run me ragged.’

How quickly we forget that Christmas day is the first day of Christmas.

Also, Christmas trees in glowing rooms is Christmas maxxing.

An observations on Clare’s style and prose. Love the phrase “snatches of songs.” The word “snatches” here is part verb, part noun. Delightful.

Carlisle, Clare. Philosopher of the Heart: The Restless Life of Søren Kierkegaard. United States, Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2020. pg180