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Reviews of photography products that enhance the enjoyment of taking pictures. Published frequently but irregularly.

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14 February 2013

When we came across this a while ago (in the brittle pages of a 1952 volume we had purchased used for 50 cents), we already knew from personal experience that life sometimes imitates art. So we didn't think of it as fiction at all.

I have now been married ten years. I know what it is to live entirely for and with what I love best on earth. I hold myself supremely blest
-- blest beyond what language can express, because I am my husband's life as fully as he is mine. No woman was ever nearer to her mate than I am -- ever more absolutely bone of his bone, and flesh of his flesh. I know no weariness of my Edward's society -- he knows none of mine, any more than we each do of the pulsation of the heart that beats in our separate bosoms; consequently, we are ever together. To be together is for us to be at once as free as in solitude, as gay as in company. We talk, I believe, all day long: to talk to each other is but a more animated and an audible thinking. All my confidence is bestowed on him, all his confidence is devoted to me; we are precisely suited in character -- perfect concord is the result.

It's from the end of Charlotte Bronte's Jane Eyre, published in 1847 (and now available as a free ebook).

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