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December 1847
I don't know anything dreadful enough to liken to you - you are like a
sweet forest of pleasant glades and whispering branches - where people
wander on and on in its playing shadows they know not how far - and when
they come near the centre of it, it is all cold and impenetrable - and
when they would fain turn, lo - they are hedged with briars and thorns
and cannot escape...
You are like the bright - soft - swelling - lovely fields of a high
glacier covered with fresh morning snow - which is heavenly to the eye -
and soft and winning on the foot - but beneath, there are winding clefts
and dark places in its cold - cold ice - where men fall, and rise not
again.
This was written by John Ruskin, an English writer, artist and
philosopher to Effie Gray, whom he eventually married. However, his
insights were correct. The marriage was never consummated and they
divorced six years later.
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