2 October 2018: "Poor Mr. Casaubon had imagined that his long studious bachelorhood had stored up for him a compound interest of enjoyment, and that large drafts on his affections would not fail to be honored; for we all of us, grave or light, get our thoughts entangled in metaphors, and act fatally on the strength of them." --Eliot, Middlemarch
I first read Middlemarch in college in my junior year, I think. Now, 20 years later, I find myself seeing Casaubon in a different light, the compassionate light Eliot wants us to see him in, I think. Having gotten caught up in more than a few similar metaphors of my own, I feel a particular pang of recognition in the passage above.
(And "old Casuabon" is about 45. Yikes.)
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