The grief of the keen is no personal complaint for the death of one woman over eighty years, but seems to contain the whole passionate rage that lurks somewhere in every native of the island.
John Millington SyngeRead
A week of sweeping fogs has passed over and given me a strange sense of exile and desolation. I walk round the island nearly every day, yet I can see nothing anywhere but a mass of wet rock, a strip of surf, and then a tumult of waves.
Interpretation
The quote reflects the feelings of isolation and desolation experienced in a misty, lonely environment.
John Millington Synge expresses a profound sense of solitude and bleakness through his depiction of the natural landscape around him. The sweeping fogs create an atmosphere of exile, while the descriptions of the wet rock and tumultuous waves symbolize a tumultuous state of mind, suggesting an inner struggle amid the harsh beauty of nature.
In practice
In a discussion about the emotional effects of weather on mood.
The grief of the keen is no personal complaint for the death of one woman over eighty years, but seems to contain the whole passionate rage that lurks somewhere in every native of the island.
In this cry of pain the inner consciousness of the people seems to lay itself bare for an instant, and to reveal the mood of beings who feel their isolation in the face of a universe that wars on them with winds and seas.
The mountain remains unmoved at its seeming defeat by the mist.
Given the nature and magnitude of the challenge, national action alone is insufficient. No nation can address this challenge on its own. No region can insulate itself from these climate changes. That is why we need to confront climate change within a global framework, one that guarantees the highest level of international cooperation.
Dangerous climate change... It's important not to be alarmist but it is very important to be alarmed
The sky is the daily bread of the eyes.
Break open_x000D_ _x000D_ A cherry tree_x000D_ _x000D_ And there are no flowers;_x000D_ _x000D_ But the spring breeze_x000D_ _x000D_ Brings forth myriad blossoms.
When I would re-create myself, I seek the darkest wood, the thickest and most interminable and to the citizen, most dismal, swamp. I enter as a sacred place, a Sanctum sanctorum. There is the strength, the marrow, of Nature.
Subscribe for the occasional hand-picked quote. No noise.