Never such innocence, Never before or since, As changed itself to past Without a word--the men Leaving the gardens tidy, The thousands of marriages Lasting a little while longer: Never such innocence again.
Philip LarkinRead
Man hands on misery to man. It deepens like a coastal shelf. Get out as early as you can, and don't have any kids yourself.
Interpretation
The quote reflects on the transmission of suffering and negativity through generations, suggesting the importance of escaping this cycle.
Philip Larkin's quote poignantly addresses the concept of inherited suffering, illustrating how one generation's misery can accumulate and deepen in subsequent generations, much like the gradual erosion of a coastal shelf. It offers a stark warning to consider avoiding the perpetuation of this cycle by choosing not to have children, emphasizing the desire to break free from the burden of inherited pain and hardship.
In practice
During a discussion about emotional health and family dynamics.
Never such innocence, Never before or since, As changed itself to past Without a word--the men Leaving the gardens tidy, The thousands of marriages Lasting a little while longer: Never such innocence again.
Uncontradicting solitude Supports me on its giant palm; And like a sea-anemone Or simple snail, there cautiously Unfolds, emerges, what I am.
Saki says that youth is like hors d'oeuvres: you are so busy thinking of the next courses you don't notice it. When you've had them, you wish you'd had more hors d'oeuvres.
Above all, though, children are linked to adults by the simple fact that they are in process of turning into them. For this they may be forgiven much. Children are bound to be inferior to adults, or there is no incentive to grow up.
Originality is being different from oneself, not others.
I can't understand these chaps who go round American universities explaining how they write poems: It's like going round explaining how you sleep with your wife.
Nature has planted in our minds an insatiable longing to see the truth.
April is the cruelest month, T.S. Eliot wrote, by which I think he meant (among other things) that springtime makes people crazy. We expect too much, the world burgeons with promises it can't keep, all passion is really a setup, and we're doomed to get our hearts broken yet again. I agree, and would further add: Who cares? Every spring I go out there anyway, around the bend, unconditionally. ... Come the end of the dark days, I am more than joyful. I'm nuts.
No moral code or ethical principle, no piece of scripture or holy teaching, can be summoned to defend what we have allowed our country to become.
For truth itself does not have the privilege to be employed at any time and in every way; its use, noble as it is, has its circumscriptions and limits.
To a philosopher all news, as it is called, is gossip, and they who edit and read it are old women over their tea.
A possibility is a hint from God. One must follow it.
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