Every now and then I lose faith in literature, thinking that perhaps I ought to have pursued a more lucrative course of study. Then, as today, I come across something beautiful, and literature redeems itself (though only for a day or so).
From a letter Hawthorne wrote to his wife: "a letter to one's beloved wife ought not to be kept back for any dimness of thought or feebleness of expression, any more than a prayer should be stifled in the soul, because the tongue of man cannot breathe it eloquently to the Deity. Love has its own omniscience; and what Love speaks to Love is comprehended in the same way prayers are."
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