03-20-2007, 09:35 AM
Today would have been number one hundred for Hugh Maclennan, born on this day, 1907 in beautiful Glace Bay, Nova Scotia.
If you're looking for a decent read, "The Watch That Ends The Night" and "Two Solitudes" are really good. "Barometer Rising" is still a best seller and pretty good too.
Hats off to the man who inspired the music. Happy Birthday Hugh.
“Go to the musicians. In the work of a few musicians you can hear every aspect of this conflict between light and dark within the soul.”
“…the last possible harmony, the only one there can be, is a will to live, love, grow and be grateful, the determination to endure all things, hope all things, believe all things necessary for what our ancestors called the will of God. To struggle and work for that, at the end, is all there is left. In music, you can hear this kind of struggle… wash like the light of the world over the little external truths of science.”
And of course:
“But that night as I drove back from Montreal, I at least discovered this: that there is no simple explanation for anything important any of us do, and that the human tragedy, or the human irony, consists in the necessity of living with the consequences of actions performed under the pressure of compulsions so obscure we do not and cannot understand them.”
If you're looking for a decent read, "The Watch That Ends The Night" and "Two Solitudes" are really good. "Barometer Rising" is still a best seller and pretty good too.
Hats off to the man who inspired the music. Happy Birthday Hugh.
“Go to the musicians. In the work of a few musicians you can hear every aspect of this conflict between light and dark within the soul.”
“…the last possible harmony, the only one there can be, is a will to live, love, grow and be grateful, the determination to endure all things, hope all things, believe all things necessary for what our ancestors called the will of God. To struggle and work for that, at the end, is all there is left. In music, you can hear this kind of struggle… wash like the light of the world over the little external truths of science.”
And of course:
“But that night as I drove back from Montreal, I at least discovered this: that there is no simple explanation for anything important any of us do, and that the human tragedy, or the human irony, consists in the necessity of living with the consequences of actions performed under the pressure of compulsions so obscure we do not and cannot understand them.”