Life is along lesson in humanity. Youth is a blunder, manhood a struggle, old age a regret. Epicureanism is human nature drunk. Cynicism is human nature mad, and stoicism is human nature in despair. Life is a complex cobweb of multicolored threads. In the glittering texture can be seen the black threads. Human destiny is essentially sad and gloomy. Even man's best laughter is tinged with pain since he is always pre-occupied with his 'yesterdays' and 'tomorrows'. Man is often gnawed by real and imaginary worries and fears. Dr. Samel Johnson said that human life, "every-where is state in which much is too be endured and little enjoyed. "Keats sang about" the weariness, the fever and the fret" of human life.
Thomas Hardy said, "Happiness is but an occasional episode in the general dram of pain. "Mathew Arnold sang against, "this strange disease of modern life, with its sick hurry and divided aims, its head overtaxed, its palsied heart." Life is a shade of grey. In its queer blend we cannot deny the predominance of dark colour.
On the sands of life sorrow treads heavily, and leaves a print that time cannot wash away. We tell our triumphs to the crowd, but our own heart are the sole confidants of our sorrows. this world, of our is a well of sufferings, an ocean of troubles, a river of sorrows, a lake of despair and a den of despondency. We, in this world, can call no man happy till we know the end of his life. Most of our pleasures, like flowers, when gathered, fade away and die.
The sun-shine of prosperity is fleeting. Riches have wings. the ripples of laughter have a short life. Some have wealth but have no issue an thus; day and night, remain drowned in pangs. Some have children but are poverty sticken and are, therefor, every time worried about how to make their children good citizens without means to get them good education and proper health care. there are persons who have both-children and affluence of the extent that even their dogs can feed on meat, but their children are either spoilt ones, handicapped or abnormal keeping the parents every time fixed in the grooves of gloom.
There are children who become orphan the moment they see the day-light, and are lynched by the groans of life. Some are becoming with youth one day, but the other day are trounced by a chronic disease and jump to death when fed up with frustration. There are people with apple-red cheeks but get palish when scourged by slavery of man to man. So none is happy in this world. The pail of life is filled with pangs, pains, passion, griefs, groans, and grievances.
The sad and bad events of life should be transformed into noble moods of thought. The pen is the tongue of the mind. Product of the pen is literature. Literature is the mother tongue of whole mankind. What the literary hands sang long back, can be tuned on the lyre of our hearts even today.
Music is the universal language of mankind. It is said to be the speech of angles. All men are poets at heart. poetry is truth dwelling in beauty. poetry of elegiac not is a balm to perturbed mind, and a solace to broken heart. our sweet songs are those that tell of saddest thought. melancholy is the pleasure of being sad. Sadness is the result of error and sin, but ultimately remedial, purifying and exalting.
The tragic writer embolden us to put up stubborn struggle against the worries and flurries of life. Out of the grooves of pessimism, out of the abyss of fatalism and out of the whirlpool of despondency, man rises to see the rays of robust optimism. The passions, pangs and pains of life are the touchstone that testifies the integrity of character. They teach us unforgettable lessons.
The life plays subtle tricks but in the wreckage there is tragic glamour and tragic splendour. Out of man's troubled, tantalized and tormented heart reverberate the songs- the sweet songs conveying the saddest thought. The intensity of grief and pain pierces through our heart. The tragedy of longing, lingering and languishing in love has resulted in the creation of great works of art, literature, painting and sculpture.
It is the Poignancy of pain, it is the keenness of grief; it is the sting of remorse; and it is the blow on the heart which ennoble our mind and exalt our character. After the momentary excitement of rabble and babel, it is the still and sad music of humanity that gives us sensations sweet. Sweet songs of saddest thought make us weep, and purify our character. When words weep, the tears speak.
[ Part 2 ]
Thomas Hardy said, "Happiness is but an occasional episode in the general dram of pain. "Mathew Arnold sang against, "this strange disease of modern life, with its sick hurry and divided aims, its head overtaxed, its palsied heart." Life is a shade of grey. In its queer blend we cannot deny the predominance of dark colour.
On the sands of life sorrow treads heavily, and leaves a print that time cannot wash away. We tell our triumphs to the crowd, but our own heart are the sole confidants of our sorrows. this world, of our is a well of sufferings, an ocean of troubles, a river of sorrows, a lake of despair and a den of despondency. We, in this world, can call no man happy till we know the end of his life. Most of our pleasures, like flowers, when gathered, fade away and die.
The sun-shine of prosperity is fleeting. Riches have wings. the ripples of laughter have a short life. Some have wealth but have no issue an thus; day and night, remain drowned in pangs. Some have children but are poverty sticken and are, therefor, every time worried about how to make their children good citizens without means to get them good education and proper health care. there are persons who have both-children and affluence of the extent that even their dogs can feed on meat, but their children are either spoilt ones, handicapped or abnormal keeping the parents every time fixed in the grooves of gloom.
There are children who become orphan the moment they see the day-light, and are lynched by the groans of life. Some are becoming with youth one day, but the other day are trounced by a chronic disease and jump to death when fed up with frustration. There are people with apple-red cheeks but get palish when scourged by slavery of man to man. So none is happy in this world. The pail of life is filled with pangs, pains, passion, griefs, groans, and grievances.
The sad and bad events of life should be transformed into noble moods of thought. The pen is the tongue of the mind. Product of the pen is literature. Literature is the mother tongue of whole mankind. What the literary hands sang long back, can be tuned on the lyre of our hearts even today.
Music is the universal language of mankind. It is said to be the speech of angles. All men are poets at heart. poetry is truth dwelling in beauty. poetry of elegiac not is a balm to perturbed mind, and a solace to broken heart. our sweet songs are those that tell of saddest thought. melancholy is the pleasure of being sad. Sadness is the result of error and sin, but ultimately remedial, purifying and exalting.
The tragic writer embolden us to put up stubborn struggle against the worries and flurries of life. Out of the grooves of pessimism, out of the abyss of fatalism and out of the whirlpool of despondency, man rises to see the rays of robust optimism. The passions, pangs and pains of life are the touchstone that testifies the integrity of character. They teach us unforgettable lessons.
The life plays subtle tricks but in the wreckage there is tragic glamour and tragic splendour. Out of man's troubled, tantalized and tormented heart reverberate the songs- the sweet songs conveying the saddest thought. The intensity of grief and pain pierces through our heart. The tragedy of longing, lingering and languishing in love has resulted in the creation of great works of art, literature, painting and sculpture.
It is the Poignancy of pain, it is the keenness of grief; it is the sting of remorse; and it is the blow on the heart which ennoble our mind and exalt our character. After the momentary excitement of rabble and babel, it is the still and sad music of humanity that gives us sensations sweet. Sweet songs of saddest thought make us weep, and purify our character. When words weep, the tears speak.
[ Part 2 ]
No comments:
Post a Comment