The Greats

My repertoire of classics is sadly lacking and I have only recently gotten around to fixing the dilemma.  In the past few months I've started reading Agatha Christi and Sherlock Holmes, Emma, Chesterton, Wodehouse (okay, maybe not a classic, but great all the same), CS Lewis and Shakespeare and let me tell you: it's amazing.

I love the tricks that Conan Doyal and Christi can play in your minds. The way Chesterton paints pictures from a pageful of words. Lewis' depth, Wodehouse's wit, Austen's clarity. I love the way Plato makes you think and Shakespeare makes you feel.

I was introduced to Plato because of this philosophy course I started yesterday. As I was reading I couldn't help but feel as though I was in a stadium full of people watching Socrates argue to save his life. It took me almost fifteen pages to realize that what I was reading was merely a dramatization of his trial recorded by his student and not an autobiography written by his ghost. Granted, I didn't think of it in that absurd way. But maybe it's the reason I liked it so much: it was simple to follow and sort of eased you into a philosopher's way of thinking. I had no idea it would be this fun.

Only last month did I discover Shakespeare's sonnets. My friend suggested that, since we no longer have assigned poetry for school, we memorize some good ones on our own. Actually, that's pretty ironic because I remember kicking and screaming through most of the speeches and poems I had to learn a few years ago. And here I am, memorizing them of my own accord. I guess that's what They wanted. Well, I have two down, and only about a hundred and fifty to go.

I have to go now, but let me just close off with my favorite sonnet so far. I know it's a cheesy conclusion, but bear with me here. You'll thank me later.

Sonnet 29
When, in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes,
I all alone beweep my outcast state,
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,
And look upon myself, and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featured like him, with him friends possessed,
Desiring this man's art and that man's scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least;
Yet in these thoughts, myself almost despising,
Haply I think on thee, and then my state,
Like to a lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate;
For they sweet love remembered such wealth brings,
That then I scorn to change my state with kings.