Mar 18, 2006 00:14
"If Wordsworth had gone back to those moments in the past, he would have found the thing itself, but only the reminder of it: what he remembered would turn out to be itself a remembering. The books or the music in which we thought the beauty was located will betray us if we trust to them: it was not in them, it only came through them, ant what came through them was longing. These things---the beauty, the memory of our own past---are good images of what we really desire: but if they are mistaken for the thing itself they turn into dumb idols,, breaking the hearts of their worshippers. For they are not the thing itself; they are only the scent of a flower we have not found, the echo of a tune we have not heard, news from a country we have never yet visited.... The sense that in this universe we are treated as strangers, the longing to be acknowledged, to meet with some response, to bridge some chasm that yawns between us and reality, is part of our inconsolable secret."
-- CS Lewis