If youth is the season of hope, it is often so only in the sense that our elders are hopeful about us; for no age is so apt as youth to think it’s emotions, partings, and resolves are the last of their kind. Each crisis seems final, simply because it is new.
Middlemarch by George Eliot
I mean, come on! Have you read a better description of all that youthful angst? Maybe I should laminate this and wear it around my neck once my kids become teenagers.
I am loving my first read through Middlemarch. It is so good! My only complaint so far is that it is too heavy to hold in one hand while reading in bed. { Which isn’t really a complaint at all and more a call for an arms workout which I have avoided for the last 20-years }
I am on Chapter 55 where Dorothea, newly widowed, has bid good-bye to possibly her true love, Will, and decided to pursue “all sorts of plans” with her land and inheritance. Page 552 of 838.
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