SHAWORDS

Through such rough paths do we travel on to old age ; and has life the — Francesca Carrara

"Through such rough paths do we travel on to old age ; and has life there garnered up its treasures to the last ? Ah, no ! The dust, to which we are so soon to return, lies thick upon the heart ; the affections are grown cold ; and all vivid emotions have ceased. But the calm is that of monotony, not of content, and is ruffled by the thousand small pettishnesses of temper, — temper which grows stronger as all other faculties weaken and decay. And yet, throughout this busy and excited pilgrimage, whose present would seem so engrossing, man is ever looking beyond it ; he never loses the internal consciousness of something undeveloped in his nature. That which is good within us seems to claim a requital not of this world ; that which is bad trembles before some vague and awful anticipation of judgment."
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Francesca Carrara
Francesca Carrara
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"Good Heaven! even to myself how strange appears the faculty, or rather the passion, of composition ! how the inmost soul developes its inmost nature on the written page! I, who lack sufficient confidence in my most intimate friends to lay bare even an ordinary emotion — who never dream of speaking of what occupies the larger portion of my time to even my most familiar companions — yet rely on the sympathy of the stranger, the comprehension of those to whom I am utterly unknown. But I neither ordered my own mind, nor made my own fate. My world is in the afar-off and the hereafter, — to them I leave it."
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Francesca Carrara