Life is a journey that must be traveled no matter how bad the roads and accommodations.
Oliver GoldsmithRead
Romance and novel paint beauty in colors more charming than nature, and describe a happiness that humans never taste. How deceptive and destructive are those pictures of consummate bliss!
Interpretation
Romantic ideals often portray a beauty and happiness that is unattainable in real life, leading to deception and disappointment.
In this quote, Oliver Goldsmith critiques the romanticization found in literature, suggesting that the beauty painted by romance and novels far surpasses the authentic colors of nature. He argues that such depictions create unrealistic standards of happiness and bliss, leading individuals to pursue an elusive ideal, ultimately resulting in disillusionment and destruction when reality falls short of those expectations.
In practice
This quote could be used in a discussion about the impact of romantic literature on societal expectations.
Life is a journey that must be traveled no matter how bad the roads and accommodations.
A mind too vigorous and active, serves only to consume the body to which it is joined.
Success consists of getting up just one more time than you fall.
Whatever the skill of any country may be in the sciences, it is from its excellence in polite learning alone that it must expect a character from posterity.
Life at the greatest and best is but a froward child, that must be humored and coaxed a little till it falls asleep, and then all the care is over.
Hope, like the gleaming taper's light,_x000D_ _x000D_ Adorns and cheers our way;_x000D_ _x000D_ And still, as darker grows the night,_x000D_ _x000D_ Emits a brighter ray.
Instead of loaves of bread, many times God gives out handfuls of purpose.
It is strange people should be so greedy, when they are alone in the world.
Everyone who wants to know what will happen ought to examine what has happened: everything in this world in any epoch has their replicas in antiquity.
Principles and rules are intended to provide a thinking man with a frame of reference.
My books are about killing God.
Sometimes I nursed starfish alive in jam jars of seawater and watched them grow back lost arms. On this day, this awful birthday of otherness, my rival, somebody else, I flung the starfish against a stone. Let it perish.
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