I felt, at the moment, powerless as stubble exposed to the draught and glow of a furnace: mentally, I still possessed my soul, and with it the certainty of ultimate safety. The soul, fortunately, has an interpreter—often an unconscious, but still a truthful interpreter—in the eye.
     --Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre

An appreciation of classic literature in its various forms.
Interpreting the Soul

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