Arc de Triomphe of Macauof detail. There is beauty in the calibrated ugliness of the opening of William Gass’s meditation on suicide and art, “The Doomed in Their Sinking,” because it is so finely calibrate
itude, or perhaps inspiration, for the essay form. Of contemporary essayists there are so many – so very many! – Who might well be included here, it isnce finally got out. The strange thing was that after they came out of the hole, they did not run away immediately. Instead, one chased after the other near the exit of the hole. It seemed that one was
eek and Latin and French and a good slice of my English for enough German to communicate. But we were divided; he was as inscrutable as my headmaster. For perhaps five minutes we stood together on thend myself instinctively as I walked noting the tint and character of a leaf, the dreamy purple shades of mountains, the exquisite lacery of winter branches, the dim, pale silhouettes of far horizons.
f forming opinions on evidence; morally, of impartiality, kindliness, and a modicum of self-control. I should add a quality which is neither moral nor intellectual, but perhaps physiological: zest and, whose opinion should be taken more seriously than anyone else’s? In the past, however, the gentlemanly art of opinion-offering was commonplace; Ralph Waldo Emerson is the North American master
o repent of our share in it. &nbs
e combination of my arm and those countless Buddhists was too much for her. That night her father visited my father and left, red-cheeked and indignant. I was giventter than slopping them about like water from a pail, which is what you did." He did not like the simile of the pail. "If those are your opinions, they part us forever," he cried, and l
he Future Is Now” is an almost purely cerebral opinion piece, less compelling perhaps than Porter’s elegantly composed short stories, but gracefully argued nonetheless, while “Artistthe entire essay with sympathy. If you will substitute “literature” for “poetry” in this famous remark in a letter of Emily Dickinson’s, you have my basic criterion for
Arc de Triomphe of Macauten in the same year, 1910, as Henry James’s “Is There a Life after Death?” Though William James is a far more lucid prose stylist than his younger brother, both brothers are concern详情