Nonetheless Eliot's dusty bones describes exactly how I feel about friendship and how rare it is to find it in Portrait of a Lady.
| “You do not know how much they mean to me, my friends, | |
| And how, how rare and strange it is, to find | 20 |
| In a life composed so much, so much of odds and ends, | |
| [For indeed I do not love it … you knew? you are not blind! | |
| How keen you are!] | |
| To find a friend who has these qualities, | |
| Who has, and gives | 25 |
| Those qualities upon which friendship lives. | |
| How much it means that I say this to you— | |
| Without these friendships—life, what cauchemar!” |
Eliot and Pound posts in the works for the future.
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