" Solitude is good for great minds but bad for small ones. It troubles brains that it does not illuminate.” Yet Hugo was unable to go as far as his older English contemporary William Wordsworth, for whom solitude was a “bliss” that filled the heart with joy. Largely avoiding its extremes of hell and bliss, here I will explore the middle ground of solitude, which I consider a site of autonomy, wonder, contemplation, imagination, inspiration, and care. "
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