|It’s funny how you can come across something at seventeen and think you understand it yet when you revisit it years later, it takes on an entirely different meaning. At that age, I loved things because I thought I was supposed to. I lived and breathed specific quotes because they were alliterative, metaphorical, personifying. I felt sage for knowing the facets of those carefully crafted words, never caring how horribly pretentious I came across to the arbiters I called my “peers.”
I had an english teacher back then – in high school – a man whom I adored and admired, who frequently told his students that he taught life, not books. It was a statement I found humorous at the time but I didn’t really appreciate the gravity of his words. Four years later, I’ve come to realize that I’ve utilized more of the knowledge I obtained from that one class than I have any other. He helped to cultivate my love of the written word and my overall obsession with classic literature by introducing me to poems like the following work by T.S. Eliot.