I've been slaving away (well, trying to) on an essay about George Eliot (aka Mary Anne Evans), a forerunner of the humanist movement. In my reading, I came across this wonderful passage from her first novel, Adam Bede:
"I have seen many an excellent matron, who could have never in her best days have been handsome, and yet she had a packet of yellow love-letters in a private drawer, and sweet children showered kisses on her sallow cheeks. And I believe there have been plenty of young heroes, or middle stature and feeble beards who have felt quite sure they could never love anything more insignificant than a Diana, and yet have found themselves in middle life happily settled with a wife who waddles. Yes! Thank God: human feeling is like the mighty rivers that bless the earth: it does not wait for beauty - it flows with restless force and brings beauty with it."
Amen
Gone shopping?
Or has no new shoes changed our habits?
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