Here undoubtedly lies the chief poetic energy:-in the force

Here undoubtedly lies the chief poetic energy:-in the force of imagination that pierces or exalts the solid fact, instead of floating among cloud-pictures. To glory in a prophetic vision of knowledge covering the earth, is an easier exercise of believing imagination than to see its beginning in newspaper placards, staring at you from the bridge beyond the corn-fields; and it might well happen to most of us dainty people that we were in the thick of the battle of Armageddon without being aware of anything more than the annoyance of a little explosive smoke and struggling on the ground immediately about us.

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The excerpt reflects on the nature of poetic energy, suggesting that true imagination enhances reality rather than detaches from it. This powerful imagination enables individuals to grasp the deeper truths behind observable facts, going beyond mere fantasy to engage with the world's tangible elements. It emphasizes the difference between lofty visions and the mundane realities that surround us, illustrating how people often overlook significant events happening right in front of them.

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Book

Daniel Deronda

Author

George Eliot

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March 13, 2025

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He yearned with a poet's yearning for the wide sky, the far-reaching vista of bridges, the tender and fluctuating lights on the water which seems to breathe with a life that can shiver and mourn, be comforted and rejoice.

This awakening of a new interest-this passing from the supposition that we hold the right opinions on a subject we are careless about, to a sudden care for it, and a sense that our opinions were ignorance-is an effectual remedy for ennui, which, unhappily, cannot be secured on a physician's prescription;

Men can do nothing without the make-believe of a beginning.

Our consciences are not all of the same pattern, an inner deliverance of fixed laws: they are the voice of sensibilities as various as our memories.

Imagination is often truer than fact," said Gwendolen, decisively, though she could no more have explained these glib words than if they had been Coptic or Etruscan. "I shall be so glad to learn all about Tasso-and his madness especially. I suppose poets are always a little mad." "To be sure-'the poet's eye in a fine frenzy rolling'; and somebody says of Marlowe- 'For that fine madness still he did maintain, Which always should possess the poet's brain.'" "But it was not always found out, was it?" said Gwendolen innocently. "I suppose some of them rolled their eyes in private. Mad people are often very cunning.

Here undoubtedly lies the chief poetic energy:-in the force of imagination that pierces or exalts the solid fact, instead of floating among cloud-pictures. To glory in a prophetic vision of knowledge covering the earth, is an easier exercise of believing imagination than to see its beginning in newspaper placards, staring at you from the bridge beyond the corn-fields; and it might well happen to most of us dainty people that we were in the thick of the battle of Armageddon without being aware of anything more than the annoyance of a little explosive smoke and struggling on the ground immediately about us.

All the things you can talk about in anyone's work are the things that are least important.

All the things you can talk about in anyone's work are the things that are least important.

Race of Cain, ascend to heaven, And cast God down upon the earth!

Race of Cain, ascend to heaven, And cast God down upon the earth!

"Philip Sharpe was a soldier in God's army," says the minister. "Now he marches with the angels."

"Philip Sharpe was a soldier in God's army," says the minister. "Now he marches with the angels."

For me the curse is a crutch, but the con is everything.

For me the curse is a crutch, but the con is everything.

On the way out to the car, Philip turns to me. "How could you be so stupid?" I shrug, stung in spite of myself. "I thought I grew out of it." Philip pulls out his key fob and presses the remote to unlock his Mercedes. I slide into the passenger side, brushing coffee cups off the seat and onto the floor mat, where crumpled printouts from MapQuest soak up any spilled liquid. "I hope you mean sleepwalking," Philip says, "since you obviously didn't grow out of stupid."

On the way out to the car, Philip turns to me. "How could you be so stupid?" I shrug, stung in spite of myself. "I thought I grew out of it." Philip pulls out his key fob and presses the remote to unlock his Mercedes. I slide into the passenger side, brushing coffee cups off the seat and onto the floor mat, where crumpled printouts from MapQuest soak up any spilled liquid. "I hope you mean sleepwalking," Philip says, "since you obviously didn't grow out of stupid."

I don't have anything against God. Far from it. But I don't understand Him. And I don't trust a lot of the people that go around claiming that they're working in His best interests.