He was contended with what he had. chair, desk and bed, type writer. What more a writer needs? He is a minimalist. At 17 all he had was the same, now also he got same except change is size of desk increased in proportions. He still leads the normal life.
Writer's life is an observer's life. Most of the time, RB lived in solitude. He was cornered and he cornered himself loving his walks. He lost his father when he was very young.
The book is very touching and things I loved about him are,
He was sure about what he wanted, what he could be.
He stayed close to nature and lived a normal life.
He walks alot. (The one thing which I always love to do)
Undoubtedly he is a great writer and also a great reader. Reading his mentions of book he read, Jaw dropping was my turn.
I quote his lines about reading.
"Book readers are special people, and they will always turn to books as the ultimate pleasure. Those who do not read are the unfortunate ones. There's nothing wrong with them; but they are missing out on one of life's compensations and rewards. A great book is a friend that never lets you down. You can return to it again and again, and the joy first derived from it will still be there."
Cheers to all the readers!!
And also he ends that chapter by saying,
"I think it is fair to say that when I was a boy, reading was my true religion. It helped me to discover my soul."
First when I read the line, 'reading was my true religion,' I couldn't understand it. Then he hits the bull eye. 'It helped me to discover my soul.'
Simply he answered my ever pondering question, "What's the purpose of religion?."
There are also 3 poems he mentioned in the book. One was written by him.
He writes this to his friend Somi. And when RB was going through difficult period his friend sends the same piece to him.
Hold on to your dreams,
Do not let them die.
We are lame without them-
Birds that cannot fly
The last line embellished the whole poem.
The other poem is by Sarah Doudney.
The Pure, the Bright, the Beautiful.
The pure, the bright, the beautiful,
That stirred our hearts in youth,
The impulse to a wordless prayer,
The dreams of love and truth,
The longing after something lost,
The spirit's yearning cry,
The striving after better hopes....
These things can never die!
The other poem by Ernest Dowson
They are not long, the days of wine and roses
Out of a misty dream
Our path emerged for a while, then closes
Within a dream.
I'll no more give any excerpts from the book. Read the rest to go for a walk with the yooung Ruskin Bond.