#casaubon

[howifeltabouthim]

I trust you may be happier without a wife, than ever you have been with me. I have felt almost daily since we were married that you were a man who would have been happier without a wife than with one.

Anthony Trollope, from Phineas Finn

[tonreihe]

A year into her marriage to Philip Rieff, Susan Sontag realizes what she has gotten herself into. (Carl Rollyson and Lisa Paddock, Susan Sontag: The Making of an Icon)

[katebvsh]

The BBC “Middlemarch” series (1994)

[maotse]

"I gesuiti avevano capito quello che né i poveri vecchi Templari di Provins né l'ala baconiana avevano ancora intuito, e cioè che la ricostruzione della mappa poteva essere raggiunta per via combinatoria e cioè con procedimenti che anticipano quelli dei moderni cervelli elettronici! I gesuiti sono i primi a inventare Abulafia! Padre Kircher rilegge tutti i trattati sull'arte combinatoria, da Lullo in avanti. E vedete cosa pubblica nella sua Ars Magna Sciendi..."

[maybeolives]

Ohhh my godddd. Casaubon’s tumblr is a work of art, and by work of art i mean the worst pretentious bullshit ever and it’s fantastic

also, i don’t think an icon pic has fit a character so well since the benedick kissing himself one

[j-august]

Her mind was theoretic, and yearned by its nature after some lofty conception of the world which might frankly include the parish of Tipton and her own rule of conduct there; she was enamoured of intensity and greatness, and rash in embracing whatever seemed to her to have those aspects; likely to seek martyrdom, to make retractations, and then to incur martyrdom after all in a quarter where she had not sought it. Certainly such elements in the character of a marriageable girl tended to interfere with her lot, and hinder it from being decided according to custom, by good looks, vanity, and merely canine affection.

George Eliot, Middlemarch

[missdodobrooke]

Dinner with Mr Casaubon-net!

[quietflorilegium]

“The terror of being judged sharpens the memory: it sends an inevitable glare over that long-unvisited past which has been habitually recalled only in general phrases. Even without memory, the life is bound into one by a zone of dependence in growth and decay; but intense memory forces a man to own his blameworthy past. With memory set smarting like a reopened wound, a man’s past is not simply a dead history, an outworn preparation of the present: it is not a repented error shaken loose from the life: it is a still quivering part of himself, bringing shudders and bitter flavors and the tinglings of a merited shame.”

George Eliot, "Middlemarch"