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Betimes in the morning I was up and out. It was too early yet to go to Miss Havisham’s, so I loitered into the country on Miss Havisham’s side of town, which was not Joe’s side; I could go there tomorrow, thinking my patroness, and painting brilliant pictures of her plans for me.
She had adopted Estella, she has as good as adopted me, and it could not fail to be her intention to bring us together. She reserved it for me to restore the desolate house, admit the sunshine into the dark rooms, set the clocks a-going and the cold hearts a-blazing, tear down the cobwebs, destroy the vermin, -in short, do all the shinning deeds of the young knight of romance, and marry the princess. I had stopped to look at the house as I passed; and its seared red brick walls, blocked the windows, and the strong green ivy clasping even the stacks of chimneys with its twigs and tendons, as if with sinewy old arms, had made up a rich attractive mystery, of which I was the hero. Estella was the inspiration of it, and the heart of it, of course. But, though she had taken such a strong possession of me, though my fancy and my hope were so set upon her, though her influence on my boyish life and character had been all-powerful, I did not, even that romantic morning, invest her with any attributes save those she possessed. I mention this in this place, of a fixed purpose because it is the clew by which I am to be followed into my poor labyrinth. According to my experience, the conventional notion of a lover cannot be always true. The unqualified truth is, that when I loved Estella with the love of a man, I loved her simply because I found her irresistible. Once for all; I knew to my sorrow, often and often, if not always, that I loved her against reason, against promise, against peace, against hope, against happiness, against all discouragement that could be. Once for all; I loved her non-the less because I knew it, and it had no more influence in the restraining me than if I had devoutly believed her to be human perfection.
on a less confusing topic, check out my turtle i made...
fucking tough. cant get much better than a straigh edge turtle
She had adopted Estella, she has as good as adopted me, and it could not fail to be her intention to bring us together. She reserved it for me to restore the desolate house, admit the sunshine into the dark rooms, set the clocks a-going and the cold hearts a-blazing, tear down the cobwebs, destroy the vermin, -in short, do all the shinning deeds of the young knight of romance, and marry the princess. I had stopped to look at the house as I passed; and its seared red brick walls, blocked the windows, and the strong green ivy clasping even the stacks of chimneys with its twigs and tendons, as if with sinewy old arms, had made up a rich attractive mystery, of which I was the hero. Estella was the inspiration of it, and the heart of it, of course. But, though she had taken such a strong possession of me, though my fancy and my hope were so set upon her, though her influence on my boyish life and character had been all-powerful, I did not, even that romantic morning, invest her with any attributes save those she possessed. I mention this in this place, of a fixed purpose because it is the clew by which I am to be followed into my poor labyrinth. According to my experience, the conventional notion of a lover cannot be always true. The unqualified truth is, that when I loved Estella with the love of a man, I loved her simply because I found her irresistible. Once for all; I knew to my sorrow, often and often, if not always, that I loved her against reason, against promise, against peace, against hope, against happiness, against all discouragement that could be. Once for all; I loved her non-the less because I knew it, and it had no more influence in the restraining me than if I had devoutly believed her to be human perfection.
on a less confusing topic, check out my turtle i made...
fucking tough. cant get much better than a straigh edge turtle