Author: George Tyrrell
Publisher: Forgotten Books
Published: 2018-01-31
Total Pages: 312
ISBN-13: 9780267385126
DOWNLOAD EBOOK →Excerpt from George Tyrrell, Vol. 1 of 2: Autobiography of George Tyrrell, 1861-1884 This is not properly one work in two volumes, but two separate works; an autobiography, succeeded by a memoir. They appear together by the force of circumstances, rather than by any inherent congruity and the difference in size and character of the two volumes has to be accepted as an inevitable consequence of their partnership. The autobiography will probably be found to possess a value of its own, quite apart from the stirring history of Father Tyrrell's later years; yet since his life would not be complete with out both beginning and end, it has had to serve also as the first part of the whole story. This autobiography, which covers the life of its author from his birth in 1861 to the death of his mother in 1884, was not written for publication, nor did Father Tyrrell leave any directions in its regard. About the Publisher Forgotten Books publishes hundreds of thousands of rare and classic books. Find more at www.forgottenbooks.com This book is a reproduction of an important historical work. Forgotten Books uses state-of-the-art technology to digitally reconstruct the work, preserving the original format whilst repairing imperfections present in the aged copy. In rare cases, an imperfection in the original, such as a blemish or missing page, may be replicated in our edition. We do, however, repair the vast majority of imperfections successfully; any imperfections that remain are intentionally left to preserve the state of such historical works.
Author: George Tyrrell
Publisher: Createspace Independent Publishing Platform
Published: 2017-09-09
Total Pages: 308
ISBN-13: 9781976262395
DOWNLOAD EBOOK →From the beginning of Chapter I. PURELY for my own sake I have often wished to make a review of what the Cur� d'Ars calls ma pauvre vie; for it seems to me that our experience is given us to be the food of our character and spiritual life; but, in point of fact, we spend our whole life in storing up food, and never have leisure to lie down quietly, with the cows in the field, and ruminate, bit by bit, what we have swallowed so hastily. To recall everything were impossible and perhaps profitless; but at least one should endeavour to grasp this same pauvre vie in its general unity, filling in such parts of the outline, as may seem worth it, in greater detail. The great difficulty attendant on such a task is self-deception and a desire of "posing," even before one's own consciousness. Just as a child instinctively plays the part of a soldier or a robber or some other that interests his imagination, so through life we are all subconsciously playing out some r�le or other, we have some theory, some view about ourselves-not always the same necessarily-in the light of which we mentally construct our autobiography. One even hears people * occasionally avow some fault or tendency, in a way that implies they have made it their deliberate r�le, "I am dreadfully proud," says one ; or "I always say what I think and mean what I say"; or "You know I never can forgive"-these and a thousand like professions really mean that such is the part the speaker has chosen to play in the drama of life; that it is what he or she likes to believe about him or herself. Indeed on this point the difficulty of the autobiographer is just that of the biographer, who necessarily approaches his matter with a certain view or conception, which acts as a principle of selection. To say that I am at present free from any such subconscious conception of myself would be to say I were more than mortal, but as far as my explicit consciousness goes nobody could approach himself more impartially, or with greater detachment, or even dislike, than I do ; and I may say that I await the completion of the task, should I have patience to complete it, with a sort of absolute curiosity as to what the tout ensemble shall be like. It is nothing that my life is void of almost a single incident of moment; for it is not the big, but the little things, that are instructive-not the exotics of the hothouse, but the weeds and nettles of the wayside.