I wish I could...
Right now the most attractive idea to me is finding myself a lovely little hermitage for me to dwell in. I want a gorgeous little hovel in the middle of pretty much no where that I can live peacefully without any disturbances. It will be surrounded by foliage and be nicely hidden from view of passersby. People will walk by it and never even realize it is there (if anyone happens to wander by it at all). I'd be happy with the idea of no one even waltzing too closely by it, too. A little peace of mind would be absolutely lovely. Though I am thinking that the only way I'll get that peace is by dwelling where none may find me. I can slip into the past and be forgotten by all. -Happy Sigh- Lovely.
I even have a particular hermitage in mind. It is vast and perfectly sublime. I would like to become the new hermit of Sidley Park. If there's an application for that job I will apply like there's no tomorrow. In a couple days when I get my hands on my copy of Arcadia I'll quote the description of this hermitage because it's my dream home. Well, a mixture of that location and the house made entirely of bookshelves. That's the home I want to dwell in forever.
"A most amiable picture too. The slopes are green and gentle. The trees are companionably grouped at intervals that show them to advantage. The rill is a serpentine ribbon unwound from the lake peaceably contained by meadows on which the right amount of sheep are tastefully arranged – in short, it is nature as God intended, and I can say with the painter, “Et in Arcadia ego!” ‘Here I am in Arcadia’, Thomasina,” - Arcadia, Tom Stoppard. This is a before picture of Sidley Park...
Years later it turns into an awe-inspiring gothic setting, "Here is the Park as it appears to us now, and here as it might be when Mr Noakes has done with it. Where there is the familiar pastoral refinement of an Englishman’s garden, here is an eruption of gloomy forest and towering crag, of ruins where there was never a house, of water dashing against rocks where there was neither spring nor a stone I could not throw the length of a cricket pitch. My hyacinth dell is become a haunt for hobgoblins, my Chinese bridge…is usurped by a fallen obelisk overgrown with briars,” Tom Stoppard.
I want a combination of that. It would be so entirely comfortable to live there. I could live happily writing, reading, and gaining knowledge alone just like the tutor Septimus Hodge. It sounds like the most wonderful way to live. I am supremely jealous of Septimus's life. Though my hermitage better have lots of bookshelves and a giant desk.
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