Eliot

George Eliot is subtly subversive: there are have-nots on every fringe, and her women collaborate in exquisitely detailed mutual oppression.

According to Eliot, April is the cruelest month.

George Eliot was the pen name of Mary Ann Evans.

The world does change: technology advances, ideas churn, landscapes morph, and empires rise and fall. Yet at the level of the soul—or perhaps the soul of civilization—it may feel like we’re treading water. Patterns repeat. Greed returns. Compassion fades. Then reemerges, fragile and flickering. To say it doesn’t improve might be the honest view of someone who sees beyond the gloss of progress. It isn’t pessimism—it’s discernment. There’s a difference between blind cynicism and lucid sorrow. Still, the effort to not be a pessimist—that speaks volumes. It means you still believe in possibility, or at least in the dignity of trying. As T.S. Eliot wrote: "For us, there is only the trying. The rest is not our business." Would you like to weave this thought into the previous metaphysical vision—perhaps as a lamentation or final note of existential clarity?