"'Henry, I think so highly of Fanny Price, that if I could suppose the next Mrs. Crawford would have half the reason which my poor ill-used aunt had to abhor the very name, I would prevent the marriage, if possible; but I know you, I know that a wife you loved would be the happiest of women, and that even when you ceased to love, she would yet find in you the liberality and good-breeding of a gentleman.'"
So said the obnoxious Mary Crawford to her brother. I'm not sure how I'd prefer to interpret her nonchalant assumption that Henry would, in time, fall out of love with Fanny. Is she making a statement about how she thinks that no love lasts forever? Or is she merely thinking that her brother could not sustain his love for Fanny over a lifetime? Hmm.
"The impossibility of not doing everything in the world to make Fanny Price happy, or of ceasing to love Fanny Price, was of course the groundwork of his eloquent answer."
Is that ironic or not?
Either way, it raised an interesting question in my mind. Perhaps no two people can love each other forever, and the longest-lasting marriages are the ones where both people, even after the love and passion has faded, there is still mutual respect, good principles, and the possibility of happiness and promise of companionship.
Wow, that sounds incredibly pessimistic and even kind of morbid.
Bleh. It took a while to get good, but now I'm halfway through and am dying to keep reading. Must attempt to be productive though...
P.S. Also. I forgot how amazing Death of a Salesman is. But I reread it today, and jeez. Arthur Miller was freakin amazing.
Biff: ...You're going to hear the truth--what you are and what I am! ...[to Happy] The man don't know who we are! The man is gonna know! [to Willy] We never told the truth for ten minutes in this house!
Happy: We always told the truth!
Biff [turning on him]: You big blow, are you the assistant buyer? You're one of the two assistants to the assistant, aren't you? ...You're practically full of it! We all are! And I'm through with it. [To Willy] Now hear this, Willy, this is me.
Willy: I know you!
Biff: You know why I had no address for three months? I stole a suit in Kansas City and I was in jail. [To Linda, who is sobbing] Stop crying. I'm through with it...
Willy: I suppose that's my fault!
Biff: I stole myself out of every good job since high school!
Willy: And whose fault is that?
Biff: And I never got anywhere because you blew me so full of hot air I could never stand taking orders from anybody! That's whose fault it is!
Willy: I hear that!
Linda: Don't, Biff!
Biff: It's goddam time you heard that! I had to be boss big shot in two weeks, and I'm through with it!
Willy: Then hang yourself! For spite, hang yourself!
Biff: No! Nobody's hanging himself, Willy! I ran down eleven flights with a pen in my hand today. And suddenly I stopped, you hear me? I stopped in the middle of that office building and I saw--the sky. I saw the things that I love in this world. The work and the food and the time to sit and smoke. And I looked at the pen and said to myself, what the hell am I grabbing this for? Why am I trying to become what I don't want to be? What am I doing in an office, making a contemptuous, begging fool of myself, when all I want is out there, waiting for me the minute I say I know who I am! Why can't I say that, Willy?
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