Claude Debussy's Arabesque #1 in E Major really moves me. So does Frederic Chopin's Nocturne #3 in B Major, from Three Nocturnes, Opus 9. To me, they're both pure emotion, expressed in music.
I think it's rather strange, in a world of mass media, where today's hit album is in tomorrow's bargain bin, that something over a hundred years old can reach out and touch me so deeply.
It makes me wonder (yes, my mind is still rambling): What might my life have been like, if I'd been born a hundred years earlier?
Since this is a theoretical supposition to begin with, then theoretically I'd have had to be born with fewer medical complications, so we'll take that for granted in this exercise.
So what does one smart, bookwormish invalid (they weren't so PC back in those days, of course) do with herself?
She could (assuming she had the funds to do so) spend sunny days out on the porch, watching the world go by; take in fresh air at the seashore, to improve her constitution; spend a lot of time reading, and maybe keep a journal of all her wild thoughts and dreams, that most of the people who knew her would probably laugh at.
Would she make anything of herself? Probably not... maybe some day after she'd passed on, someone would notice her journal and read it and think, "Wow, this girl really had a head on her shoulders. It's a shame she didn't do something with herself; she could have been a great author, if only she'd given herself a chance."
[END theoretical supposition]
Whoa, wait a second. . . . Did you notice something there? I want to emphasize that I did not have any idea of where my little supposition would go. Maybe I'm trying to tell myself something. I think I should sit up and take notes!
And I think the voice in my mind is now saying that it's time to go to sleep. Finally!
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