Carl von Clausewitz teaches

The Fog and Friction of War

Product Leaders

Most people take on projects and startups that aren't ambitious enough

Sam Altman and Blake Scholl on

Leaders of Innovation

We kickoff the life-changing habit of reading and writing every day.

Rainer Maria Rilke et al.

The Contemplative Life

The New Journalists teach

Nonfiction Writing

A course on willpower. New lessons coming.

Orison Swett Marden on

Iron Will

Dickens, Carnegie, and Hugo on

Kindness and Criminals

Learn how feeling is the key to writing authentically

EE Cummings teaches

Writing as Nobody-But-Yourself

Developing a strong "why message" will help you inspire early supporters and build a following

Simon Sinek teaches

Leading with Purpose

Got dumped? Join a centuries-old club and read your way through heartbreak and rejection.

The Tortured Poets on

Getting Dumped

A short tour and

Introduction to Crone

"Memento Mori" or

Remember You Shall Die

"Black Stone on Top of a White Stone"

Discover the reflective musings on life and time in John Updike's 'Self-Consciousness.' Explore now.

John Updike (1932-2009) was a prolific American novelist, poet, and critic renowned for his keen observation of American life and his sophisticated prose style. A two-time Pulitzer Prize winner for fiction, Updike's expansive body of work explores themes of identity, sexuality, and the trappings of modern society, with notable works including the 'Rabbit' series and the memoir "Self-Consciousness." His contribution to American letters is distinguished by a remarkable ability to transcend the particularities of his characters’ experiences, making them universally resonant.

In "Self-Consciousness," John Updike concedes, "I take an idle aesthetic delight in my grandsons," a privilege he regrettably "was too busy to spare my children." The swift current of younger days pilfered these cherished interludes. With the march of years comes a hiatus—a juncture to witness ungoverned by haste, to cherish allure neglected beforehand.

He contemplates, was it merely that he's "walking back to enjoy" fragments of yesteryear? This reflection embodies our yearning to clinch the episodes we whisked by, to fathom life in its retreat. It's an exclusive comfort to humans to revisit past vistas and unearth novel pleasures in customary tableaux, even while existence hurtles us forth. We are bound to time's relentless river, questing for significance in "the cycles of the day and of the year" that once eluded our grasp. 

Embracing the cyclical nature, Updike's musings "suggest that existence is intrinsically cyclical, a playful spin," yet juxtaposes this notion with the inexorable linearity of decisions permanent and profound. The alleged simplicity of joy—a craving voiced in wondering whether "happiness [can] be simply a matter of orange juice"—clashes with the stark reality of life's "once and-doneness." The poignancy of existence, so "solemn and huge and deeply pathetic," looms over us, urging us to comprehend the "decisive difference between comedy and tragedy," where comedy offers second chances but "tragedy denies us another chance." Through these meditations, we are reminded of the "irrevocability of our decisions," shaping our odyssey through the ephemeral and the eternal.

## PASSAGE

I take an idle aesthetic delight in my grandsons I was too busy to spare my children, except when they were asleep. Or was it simply that I was walking back to enjoy the Globe’s sports headlines, Arts section, and Spider Man (the only one of the “funnies” I still follow, as he juggles his tingling “spider sense,” his improbable career as a student and professional photographer, and now his marriage to the voluptuous Mary Jane), while I consumed my invariable breakfast of Erewhon New England Style Honey Almond Granola and orange juice?

Can happiness be simply a matter of orange juice? Is it not the singularity of life that terrifies us? Is it not the decisive difference between comedy and tragedy that tragedy denies us another chance? Shakespeare over and over demonstrates life’s singularity—the irrevocability of our decisions, hasty and even mad though they be. How solemn and huge and deeply pathetic our life does loom in its once and-doneness, how inexorably linear, even though our rotating, revolving planet offers us the cycles of the day and of the year to suggest that existence is intrinsically cyclical, a playful spin, and that there will always be, tomorrow morning or the next, another chance.

"The Illusion of Second Chances"

Understanding Grief

Discover Tennyson's exploration of grief in "In Memoriam A.H.H."—a poignant reflection on loss & memory. Delve into its profound themes.

Alfred Lord Tennyson stands as one of the towering figures of Victorian literature, celebrated for his melodic poetry and emotional depth. As Poet Laureate of Great Britain during much of Queen Victoria's reign, his work touched on themes of nature, love, and existential contemplation, becoming synonymous with the era's intellectual and emotional spirit. His poem "In Memoriam A. H. H." is a poignant meditation on grief and the search for hope after loss, showcasing his masterful use of form and language.

Tennyson's "In Memoriam A. H. H." delves into the "Dark house, by which once more I stand," symbolizing loss and sorrow. The "long unlovely street" mirrors the emptiness within him. Memories of anticipation, waiting for a hand that now "can be clasp'd no more," clash with the cold present. He cannot sleep, "and like a guilty thing I creep" at the earliest morning, unable to grasp the normality that has eluded him.

He acknowledges life's relentless march, feeling detached as far away "the noise of life begins again," and the day breaks, "ghastly thro' the drizzling rain." The emergence of "the blank day" on the "bald street" reflects Tennyson's reflection on the piercing isolation of grief. Throughout this passage, Tennyson captures the weight of bereavement and the alienation from a world that carries on, indifferent to his "guilty thing" state of personal devastation.

Tennyson's lines reveal how spaces, once vibrant with the "Doors, where my heart was used to beat so quickly," are now charged with the ghosts of the past, swelling with memories yet echoing the void left by the departed. These places, once alive with connection, now underscore the relentless forward pull of life and the stark, harsh reality of personal mourning in the "unlovely street."

## PASSAGE

Dark house, by which once more I stand
         Here in the long unlovely street,
         Doors, where my heart was used to beat
So quickly, waiting for a hand,

A hand that can be clasp'd no more—
         Behold me, for I cannot sleep,
         And like a guilty thing I creep
At earliest morning to the door.

He is not here; but far away
         The noise of life begins again,
         And ghastly thro' the drizzling rain
On the bald street breaks the blank day.

"In Memoriam A. H. H. OBIIT MDCCCXXXIII: 7"

"The Lover"

Discover "In Passing" by Lisel Mueller and learn how transience elevates life's value. Explore the beauty of fleeting moments in poetry.

Lisel Mueller (1924–2020) was a German-American poet renowned for her evocative verse that seamlessly weaves personal history with the larger currents of world events and literary legacies. A recipient of numerous accolades, including the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry, Mueller's work is characterized by its lyrical precision, emotional depth, and profound empathy. Her poem "In Passing," like many of her pieces, reflects on the intersections of memory, loss, and the ephemeral nature of life.

Lisel Mueller's "In Passing" delves deep into the ephemeral nature of existence. She crafts an image of the fleeting moments, describing the light of day as "the strained honey of afternoon light," a metaphor that captures the sticky, fleeting sweetness of time as it "flows into darkness." This suggests that the serene transitions of day into night are as transient as the moments we yearn to hold onto.

Mueller moves to the representation of potential and the hidden in "the closed bud shrugs off its special mystery," the essence of life held tight in a burgeoning flower. Yet this same life force defies obscurity to fulfill its purpose—it "breaks into blossom," relinquishing the enigma for an ephemeral display of splendor. Herein lies the paradox of growth—by revealing ourselves, we exchange our "special mystery" for a chance to be known and seen. Mueller encapsulates the profound nature of this exchange with her observation that "what exists, exists so that it can be lost and become precious."

The poem is thus a distillation of the essential truth: we hold dear that which is not everlasting. Mueller beckons us into a deeper reflection, pulling us to "become precious" in a world of transitory wonder. Her phrasing is deceptively simple; within it hides the weighty truths about our fleeting sojourn. It's a gentle but potent reminder from Mueller that in everything that "breaks into blossom," we must find the significance in life's impermanent dance, and accept that it is the prospect of loss that imbues our existence with value.

## PASSAGE

How swiftly the strained honey
of afternoon light
flows into darkness

and the closed bud shrugs off
its special mystery
in order to break into blossom:

as if what exists, exists
so that it can be lost
and become precious.

"In Passing"

"Holy Sonnet X"

The Use of Philosophy

Explore Shakespeare's insight on love's illusions in Much Ado About Nothing. Learn to decode the timeless themes of deception and resilience.

William Shakespeare, the preeminent playwright and poet of the English language, has left an indelible imprint on literature with his prolific body of work comprising tragedies, comedies, and historical plays. Hailing from Stratford-upon-Avon, he flourished during the late 16th and early 17th centuries, enchanting audiences with his masterful characterizations and enduring themes. In "Much Ado About Nothing," Shakespeare brilliantly combines elements of wit, romance, and deception, weaving a complex tapestry of human relationships that continues to resonate with modern readers and theatre-goers alike.

Stop "sigh[ing], ladies, sigh no more." Shakespeare's wisdom from the play directs us to take note that "Men were deceivers ever," indicating that the nature of men to be fickle in love is unchanging. Thus, they're "one foot in sea, and one on shore," never fully committing to a single course in romance. Instead of lamenting over their inconstancy, one should "be you blithe and bonny," choosing cheerfulness over despair. In doing so, we're encouraged to transform our "sounds of woe / Into hey nonny, nonny," turning our sorrows into lighthearted refrains.

Furthermore, the bard indicates we should "Sing no more ditties, sing no more / Of dumps so dull and heavy." Shakespeare's sage advice is an indication that wallowing in sad tales adds to our burden—a weight as old as time itself, for "The fraud of men was ever so / Since summer first was leafy." Therefore, we are counselled to release our grievances, "let them go," and instead of dwelling on our heartache, recalibrate our emotions to be "blithe and bonny."

Shakespeare's broader societal discourse here seems to be that love is complex and often accompanied by deceit, yet we should meet this with resilience and a light spirit, "Converting all your sounds of woe / Into hey, nonny, nonny." The soothing cadence of his words cleverly juxtaposes the reality of betrayal within the passage, underscoring that we can indeed confront and metamorphose our pain into something bearable, even trivial, with the right mindset.

## PASSAGE

Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more.
    Men were deceivers ever,
One foot in sea, and one on shore,
    To one thing constant never.
Then sigh not so, but let them go,
    And be you blithe and bonny,
Converting all your sounds of woe
    Into hey nonny, nonny.

Sing no more ditties, sing no more
    Of dumps so dull and heavy.
The fraud of men was ever so
    Since summer first was leafy.
Then sigh not so, but let them go,
    And be you blithe and bonny,
Converting all your sounds of woe
    Into hey, nonny, nonny.

Sigh No More

Time's Toll on Love

Explore Louise Labé's "Oh, Women of Lyon," a contemplation of love's sway over integrity and talent. Unravel the dichotomy in our lesson.

Louise Labé, one of the most influential female poets of the French Renaissance, hailed from Lyon and was renowned for her intellectual prowess and emotive sonnetry. Her collection, including the notable poem "Oh, Women of Lyon," exhibits a profound exploration of love, femininity, and human emotion, blending classical references with a modern psychological depth that was ahead of her time. Her work contributed to the rich tapestry of sixteenth-century French literature and continues to captivate readers with its lyrical beauty and insightful commentary on the human condition.

Louise Labé's poem celebrates the essence of personal integrity and the tumultuous influence of love, exclaiming, "It never pained my eyes to have to see better rain fall on my neighbor than on me." The speaker embodies a moral compass that does not waver, even amidst others' good fortune, and steadfastly refuses to "set discord among my friends, or debased [herself] to further [her] own ends." She lives by the principles of virtue and fair play, sharply recoiling from deceit, as "to lie, to trick, or to abuse another — or to speak badly of anyone — makes [her] shudder."

Yet, despite this firm grounding in virtue, Love emerges as her confessed disruptor, claiming hold of her "green youth" and veering her focus. This powerful force, characterized by Love himself, is "the cause of all my strife." Under his dominion, her "hundred thousand ingenious feats of skill," whether it be her disciplined attempts "[wanting] to paint fine scenes in my sewing frame," to outshine the scholarly weaver who challenged "what Pallas had devised," or her martial valor where she "should have seen me in armor, riding high, gripping my lance, letting my arrows fly," are suddenly rendered "dull."

Labé eloquently describes the speaker's ambitions that challenge gender norms of her time, depicting the breadth of her talents and aspirations. Yet, Love, the unrivaled artist, overshadows these ambitions, demonstrating its power to overshadow and transform. In a life charged with integrity and defiance of conventions, Love intervenes to paint its indelible and all-consuming strokes. Labé's verse thus captures a poignant conflict, simultaneously celebrating the liberating nature of Love and acknowledging its potent sway to divert a person's destiny.

## PASSAGE

It never pained my eyes to have to see
better rain fall on my neighbor than on me.
I have not set discord among my friends,
or debased myself to further my own ends.
To lie, to trick, or to abuse another —
or to speak badly of anyone — makes me shudder.
So, if there’s anything imperfect in my life,
blame Love. He is the cause of all my strife.
In my green youth he got a hold of me,
while I was exercising both my soul and body
in a hundred thousand ingenious feats of skill
which, in no time at all, he rendered dull.
Wanting to paint fine scenes in my sewing frame,
I had challenged myself to extinguish the great fame
of her who — surely more studious than wise —
set her work against what Pallas had devised.
And you should have seen me in armor, riding high,
gripping my lance, letting my arrows fly!

Letting My Arrows Fly

Grab Bag

"Rain"

Explore John Donne's vivid portrayal of love's immense power in "The Broken Heart". Dive into our interactive lesson and find new insights into this transformative force.

John Donne (1572-1631), a preeminent figure in English literature, is celebrated for his inventive metaphysical poetry and masterful use of language. His work, characterized by its emotional intensity and intellectual rigor, explores themes of love, religion, and mortality. This anthology features a selection of Donne's poetry, including his poignant reflection on love's enduring pain in "The Broken Heart."

John Donne, in his poem "The Broken Heart," elucidates the ferocious dominion of love. He proclaims, "He is stark mad, whoever says, That he hath been in love an hour," intimating that love's onslaught is swift and decisive, not merely fading but having "the power to devour" the heart in less than an hour.

The heart, when snared by "love's hands," becomes a mere bauble, easily subdued and defenseless. All other grievances seem to accommodate each other, yet love insists on absolutism: "They come to us, but us love draws; He swallows us and never chaws." Love functions like a merciless monarch or a relentless predator, leaving us as its ensnared prey, as it becomes "the tyrant pike" to our unsuspecting hearts, which turn into "the fry."

Donne crafts an emblem of his heartbreak as irrefutable testament. Upon encountering love, it was as if he "brought a heart into the room, but from the room carried none" with him. Rather than sharing love, it ambushed him with the ferocity that "at one first blow did shiver it as glass." Though remnants persist, reassembling is futile for "yet nothing can to nothing fall, nor any place be empty quite," hence why even though his chest still houses the fragments, they are disunited, and "now, as broken glasses show a hundred lesser faces, so my rags of heart can like, wish, and adore," incapable of recapturing the integrity required for profound love after such tragedy.

The poet conveys the aspect of love that is staggering and all-engulfing. Once fractured, a heart subsists in shards, retaining the capability for partial affections but losing the capacity "to love no more" as it once could. This depiction of affection serves as a sobering reminder of love's dichotomous potential for boundless joy and significant anguish.

## PASSAGE

He is stark mad, whoever says,
    That he hath been in love an hour,
Yet not that love so soon decays,
    But that it can ten in less space devour ;
Who will believe me, if I swear
That I have had the plague a year?
    Who would not laugh at me, if I should say
    I saw a flash of powder burn a day?

Ah, what a trifle is a heart,
    If once into love's hands it come !
All other griefs allow a part
    To other griefs, and ask themselves but some ;
They come to us, but us love draws ;
He swallows us and never chaws ;
    By him, as by chain'd shot, whole ranks do die ;
    He is the tyrant pike, our hearts the fry.

If 'twere not so, what did become
    Of my heart when I first saw thee?
I brought a heart into the room,
    But from the room I carried none with me.
If it had gone to thee, I know
Mine would have taught thine heart to show
    More pity unto me ; but Love, alas !
    At one first blow did shiver it as glass.

Yet nothing can to nothing fall,
    Nor any place be empty quite ;
Therefore I think my breast hath all
    Those pieces still, though they be not unite ;
And now, as broken glasses show
A hundred lesser faces, so
    My rags of heart can like, wish, and adore,
    But after one such love, can love no more.

"The Broken Heart"

John Keats on Death, Mourning

Explore Emily Dickinson's profound exploration of love and pain as vast as the sea in "You left me – Sire – two Legacies." Learn the depths here.

Emily Dickinson (1830-1886) stands among the most enigmatic and influential American poets of the 19th century. Noted for her unconventional use of form and punctuation, her work delves into themes of nature, love, death, and the immaterial. Although a recluse in life, Dickinson's posthumously published poetry, such as "You left me – Sire – two Legacies", has solidified her as a towering figure in literary history, celebrated for its depth and lyrical quality.

Emily Dickinson's poem delves into the profound and intangible inheritances of "A Legacy of Love" and "Boundaries of Pain," eschewing any mention of material wealth. She commences with a formal salutation, "You left me – Sire –," towards someone likened to a sovereign or patriarch, acknowledging the endowment of two significant legacies.

The maiden legacy is that of love, described with simplicity yet implicating profound complexity, hinting at a vastness that vies with divinity. Dickinson daringly posits that such love could equal and perhaps even surpass what "A Heavenly Father would suffice," underscoring its deep and individual effect.

Transitioning to the second bequest, the poem steers towards the dolor bequeathed, delineated as "Boundaries of Pain – Capacious as the Sea –," suggesting an immeasurable expanse of the speaker's anguish. The speaker's existence is depicted as enmeshed "Between Eternity and Time –," highlighting the permanent coexistence of love and pain within the human condition.

Dickinson concludes with an evocation of an ever-present connection, despite the physical divide, between "Your Consciousness – and me –." The poem leaves its readers to ponder the enduring legacies of emotional bonds that persist beyond tangible presence and surmount the continuum of time and the boundless realm of eternity. Through her meticulously chosen language, Dickinson explores the depths of these bequests and their unyielding influence upon our existence.

## PASSAGE

You left me – Sire – two Legacies –
A Legacy of Love
A Heavenly Father would suffice
Had He the offer of –

You left me Boundaries of Pain –
Capacious as the Sea –
Between Eternity and Time –
Your Consciousness – and me –

Two Legacies

Delve into Coleridge's "Dejection: An Ode," exploring emotional numbness against nature's beauty. Learn how he depicts despair.

Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772–1834), an English poet, literary critic, philosopher, and a luminary of the Romantic movement, remains one of the most influential and innovative figures in the world of British poetry. His profound imagination and technical skill are exemplified in works such as "The Rime of the Ancient Mariner" and "Kubla Khan." Featured in this anthology, "Dejection: An Ode," stands as a poignant expression of Coleridge's complex emotional landscape, which synthesizes personal melancholy with the immense creative forces at his command.

Samuel Taylor Coleridge's "Dejection: An Ode" begins with a penetrating sense of sorrow, described as "A grief without a pang, void, dark, and drear," indicating a kind of grief that is profoundly hollow and devoid of sharpness. This feeling is so entrenched that it barely stirs the soul—it simply exists, characterized as a "stifled, drowsy, unimpassioned grief." Traditional expressions of emotion such as "word, or sigh, or tear" offer no escape. Even the attempt by the 'Lady' to rouse him from this malaise is met with little success, as he remains enveloped in a "wan and heartless mood."

The poem presents a vivid contrast between the allure of the natural world and the speaker's inner incapacity to experience it. The "throstle" calls out, the "long eve" is gently caressing, and the heavens are adorned, displaying "thin clouds above, in flakes and bars" that trace their silent dance across the firmament. Yet the speaker merely observes, devoid of the usual emotional response, while admitting, "I see, not feel, how beautiful they are!"

Coleridge's powerful language reflects the schism between the external beauty of the world and the speaker's internal despair. The clarity with which he describes each detail in the heavens—whether it be the stars that seem to "glide behind them or between" or the Moon fixed "as if it grew / In its own cloudless, starless lake of blue"—underscores his acute awareness of the natural splendor that fails to penetrate his "blank an eye." It is a poignant illustration of how profound sorrow can dampen even the most potent responses to the earth's wonders.

## PASSAGE

A grief without a pang, void, dark, and drear,
         A stifled, drowsy, unimpassioned grief,
         Which finds no natural outlet, no relief,
                In word, or sigh, or tear—
O Lady! in this wan and heartless mood,
To other thoughts by yonder throstle woo'd,
         All this long eve, so balmy and serene,
Have I been gazing on the western sky,
         And its peculiar tint of yellow green:
And still I gaze—and with how blank an eye!
And those thin clouds above, in flakes and bars,
That give away their motion to the stars;
Those stars, that glide behind them or between,
Now sparkling, now bedimmed, but always seen:
Yon crescent Moon, as fixed as if it grew
In its own cloudless, starless lake of blue;
I see them all so excellently fair,
I see, not feel, how beautiful they are!

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