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Love's Pilgrimage
Upton Sinclair
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I see how I fall into blindness of the high things at home. How almost impossible it is for me to do anything, while I have the earthly ties of love! I study—but how? How is it possible to live the physical life of other people—to be sympathetic and agreeable and conciliatory, and gain anything for your own soul? How is such a creature as myself to get what it wants, unless it goes away where there are no contrary and disturbing influences—where it has no ties, no obligations? The souls that have won, how did they do it— did they go alone, or did they stay in the parlor and serve tea?
Such thoughts as these would make me grovel at your feet, if need be, in an agony of prayer. The means, I cry—and you are the means! What is. . . Read More
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Community Reviews
After a while reading through, the familiarity of the theme is uncanny, although not in details; at some point it suddenly becomes clear that this tale of travails is of every artist of every art, whether musician or someone in performing arts in theatre or films, or painting or sculpture, even arch
After a while reading through, the familiarity of the theme is uncanny, although not in details; at some point it suddenly becomes clear that this tale of travails is of every artist of every art, whether musician or someone in performing arts in theatre or films, or painting or sculpture, even arch
After a while reading through, the familiarity of the theme is uncanny, although not in details; at some point it suddenly becomes clear that this tale of travails is of every artist of every art, whether musician or someone in performing arts in theatre or films, or painting or sculpture, even arch
After a while reading through, the familiarity of the theme is uncanny, although not in details; at some point it suddenly becomes clear that this tale of travails is of every artist of every art, whether musician or someone in performing arts in theatre or films, or painting or sculpture, even arch
After a while reading through, the familiarity of the theme is uncanny, although not in details; at some point it suddenly becomes clear that this tale of travails is of every artist of every art, whether musician or someone in performing arts in theatre or films, or painting or sculpture, even arch
After a while reading through, the familiarity of the theme is uncanny, although not in details; at some point it suddenly becomes clear that this tale of travails is of every artist of every art, whether musician or someone in performing arts in theatre or films, or painting or sculpture, even arch
After a while reading through, the familiarity of the theme is uncanny, although not in details; at some point it suddenly becomes clear that this tale of travails is of every artist of every art, whether musician or someone in performing arts in theatre or films, or painting or sculpture, even arch
After a while reading through, the familiarity of the theme is uncanny, although not in details; at some point it suddenly becomes clear that this tale of travails is of every artist of every art, whether musician or someone in performing arts in theatre or films, or painting or sculpture, even arch
Oh Upton. You really are insufferable.
Sinclair’s socialism is so tinged with Victorian moralism that this is quite a tortuous read.
What pity I have for Meta Fuller!