ellauri053.html on line 152: The term 'Pre-Raphaelite' conjures up visions of tall, willowy creatures with pale skin, flowing locks, scarlet lips, and melancholic expressions. The paintings of these models and muses, who were often the artists' wives and mistresses, defied Victorian standards of beauty and caused much controversy.
ellauri080.html on line 65: Hippocrates (?c.460-377 or 359 BC) (the "father of medicine") categorized people into different temperaments (phlegmatic, humid, bilious, melancholic), each of which described a constellation of tendencies.
ellauri095.html on line 145: After several years of ill health and bouts of diarrhoea, Hopkins died of typhoid fever in 1889 and was buried in Glasnevin Cemetery, after a funeral in St Francis Xavier Church in Gardiner Street, located in Georgian Dublin. He is thought to have suffered throughout his life from what today might be labelled bipolar disorder or chronic unipolar depression, and battled a deep sense of melancholic anguish. However, his last words on his death bed were, "I am so happy, I am so happy. I loved my life." He was 44 years of age.
ellauri095.html on line 225: This and his isolation in Ireland deepened a gloom that was reflected in his poems of the time, such as "I Wake and Feel the Fell of Dark, not Day". They came to be known as the "terrible sonnets", not for their quality but according to Hopkins's friend Canon Richard Watson Dixon, because they reached the "terrible crystal", meaning they crystallised the melancholic dejection that plagued the later part of Hopkins's life.
ellauri095.html on line 227: Several issues led to a melancholic state and restricted his poetic inspiration in his last five years. His workload was heavy. He disliked living in Dublin, away from England and friends. He was disappointed at how far the city had fallen from its Georgian elegance of the previous century. His general health suffered and his eyesight began to fail. He felt confined and dejected. As a devout Jesuit, he found himself in an artistic dilemma. To subdue an egotism that he felt would violate the humility required by his religious position, he decided never to publish his poems. But Hopkins realised that any true poet requires an audience for criticism and encouragement. This conflict between his religious obligations and his poetic talent made him feel he had failed at both.
ellauri112.html on line 718: Tully takes care of the baby with effortless technique, letting Marlo know she can also help with anything else around the house, even tips for re-starting Marlo and Drew’s sex life. She spouts hip, up to date trends and the kind of facts fresh college kids throw around. But it’s not a feel-good narrative. Through Tully Marlo is looking back at an earlier age, when life was simpler, breezier. We soon realize Tully isn’t teaching Marlo anything, she’s reminding her of the past. In one scene the two decide to sneak out to a bar, but the moment isn’t just fun, it’s also melancholic. Marlo warns Tully that your 20’s are great, but then “your 30’s come around the corner like a big dumpster truck.”
ellauri191.html on line 1848: "who in the quest for the melancholic soul of his native city has discovered new symbols for the clash and interlacing of cultures"
xxx/ellauri199.html on line 907: Contemporary odes to Neptune were harder to come by, but divine intervention ensured I found one that mentioned him by name. One of the highlights of my recent trip to Odesa, discussed here on the blog, was a visit to the literary museum, which houses a small collection of Anna Akhmatova’s work. The statuesque Russian poet, melancholic lover and resolute witness to the Stalinist and Putinist terrors, was born near Odesa and spent her childhood summers in the region. The display included a palm-sized booklet of the long poem ‘Close to the Sea’, or as my host translated, ‘very close’: an intimate relationship. I looked it up in The Complete Poems when I got home and assumed it must be ‘By the Edge of the Sea’. The ballad of a fierce young woman willing the arrival of her beloved from the waves, the poem was too long for the workshop and extracts would not do it justice. A shame, I thought, setting down the 950 page book, which promptly fell open to:
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