Spasmodic Thoughts on Arcadia

For all the pages of essay writing that I have accumulated over my years as an English literature student on the Romantics, I can write doubly, or even triple the amount, especially after seeing Tom Stoppard's Arcadia. Having read the play ten times over, and understanding not only the philosophy and mathematics, but recognizing and being moved by the era that inspires my writing and my appreciation of all British literature and poetry, can I say that I was not compelled to wiggle in my seat with glee? Stoppard is a wit unsurpassed by any other playwright that I know of, and the staging and direction done by Bill Peters still amazes me. The moments of silent music, the drawing of the language, characters working working that language, spitting it out after having the words drip down from their brain and age in the cellars of their mouths - JESUS! Stoppard was a genius to take the Personality (capital "P") of Lord Byron. God knows how long and hard I've studied and written existential rhetoric on that persona. I'm so disappointed for having only seen it once, but I'm compelled to never let this play out of my sights for as long as I live.

When we have found all the meanings and lost all the mysteries, we will be alone, on an empty shore.