#lydgate

[cuervom]

Please, could we travel back in time to 1840, bring Ann Walker and take care of her??

[negasimon-awake]

Have another WIP --- Update* added the rest of the WIPS, LOL im such a loser. Lydgate human oc belongs to @ask-the-prototypes

[cuervom]

On 25th February 1854, Ann Walker passed away and, yesterday (and a bit today, too) I spent the entire day sensitive, emotional and sad. Hoping that, in that day, she was feeling completely in peace, without any pain and knowing she deserved the best.

Thanks for exist, thanks for your braveness, Ann.

[quietflorilegium]

“I don’t know,” said Lydgate, with something like a groan in his voice. “I have not taken a bribe yet. But there is a pale shade of bribery which is sometimes called prosperity.”

George Eliot, "Middlemarch"

[quietflorilegium]

“Yes,” said Lydgate, feeling that here he had found room for the full meaning of his grief. “I had some ambition. I meant everything to be different with me. I thought I had more strength and mastery. But the most terrible obstacles are such as nobody can see except oneself.”

George Eliot, "Middlemarch"

[quietflorilegium]

“There is no sorrow I have thought more about than that—to love what is great, and try to reach it, and yet to fail.”

Tertius Lydgate, George Eliot, "Middlemarch"

[quietflorilegium]

“The presence of a noble nature, generous in its wishes, ardent in its charity, changes the lights for us: we begin to see things again in their larger, quieter masses, and to believe that we too can be seen and judged in the wholeness of our character. That influence was beginning to act on Lydgate, who had for many days been seeing all life as one who is dragged and struggling amid the throng. He sat down again, and felt that he was recovering his old self in the consciousness that he was with one who believed in it.”

George Eliot, "Middlemarch"

[quietflorilegium]

“He had never liked the makeshifts of poverty, and they had never before entered into his prospects for himself; but he was beginning now to imagine how two creatures who loved each other, and had a stock of thoughts in common, might laugh over their shabby furniture, and their calculations how far they could afford butter and eggs.”

George Eliot, "Middlemarch"