tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-799644950098716560.post5575072780177287383..comments2023-09-13T08:44:15.510-07:00Comments on Work Without Dread: Communicating, NotUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger2125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-799644950098716560.post-77907950750394124132008-07-08T17:42:00.000-07:002008-07-08T17:42:00.000-07:00Perfect. Or perfectly imperfect...Perfect. Or perfectly imperfect...RThttps://www.blogger.com/profile/04486972270932294981noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-799644950098716560.post-10799125545199579722008-07-05T10:43:00.000-07:002008-07-05T10:43:00.000-07:00"If for Isabel [Mme. Merle] had a fault it was tha..."If for Isabel [Mme. Merle] had a fault it was that she was not natural; by which the girl meant, not that she was either affected or pretentious, since from these vulgar vices no woman could have been more exempt, but that her nature had been too much overlaid by custom and her angles too much rubbed away. She had become too flexible, too useful, was too ripe and too final. She was in a word too perfectly the social animal that man and woman are supposed to have been intended to be; and she had rid herself of every remnant of that tonic wildness which we may assume to have belonged even to the most amiable persons in the ages before country-house life was the fashion. Isabel found it difficult to think of her in any detachment or privacy, she existed only in her relations, direct or indirect, with her fellow mortals. One might wonder what commerce she could possibly hold with her own spirit. One always ended, however, by feeling that a charming surface doesn't necessarily prove one superficial; this was an illusion in which, in one's youth, one had but just escaped being nourished."-- Henry James, Portrait of a Lady, vol. 1, ch. XIXAnonymousnoreply@blogger.com