Oh the comfort
As I was quietly working away on the long table in the Lit and Phil yesterday I noticed a young student nearby working away on Middlemarch by George Eliot. She was typing away whilst watching a T.V. production of the book. Exams clearly beckoning. I thought I must pick up the book again myself, one of the great novels.
As I was reflecting on the great issues of her book I remembered something she wrote that had resonated with me a long time ago and I had sent as part of a birthday greeting to someone close.
'Oh the comfort, the inexpressible comfort of feeling safe with a person; having neither to weigh thoughts nor measure words, but to pour them all out, just as they are, chaff and grain together, knowing that a faithful hand will take and sift them, keep what is worth keeping and then with the breath of kindness blow the rest away.'
As I was reflecting on the great issues of her book I remembered something she wrote that had resonated with me a long time ago and I had sent as part of a birthday greeting to someone close.
'Oh the comfort, the inexpressible comfort of feeling safe with a person; having neither to weigh thoughts nor measure words, but to pour them all out, just as they are, chaff and grain together, knowing that a faithful hand will take and sift them, keep what is worth keeping and then with the breath of kindness blow the rest away.'
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