"Mishaps are like knives, that either serve us or cut us, as we grasp them by the blade or the handle"
About this Quote
Mishaps, Lowell suggests, are not moral verdicts handed down from the universe; they are tools whose outcome depends on our grip. The knife is a slyly domestic image for what usually feels chaotic. It carries danger and utility in the same object, collapsing the distance between catastrophe and craftsmanship. That compression is the point: the world doesn’t reliably sort experiences into “good” and “bad,” but we can sort our response into something that either wounds or works.
The subtext has a 19th-century moral spine, but it’s not pious. Lowell doesn’t deny pain; he relocates agency. “As we grasp them” shifts the center of gravity away from fate and toward choice, suggesting that the secondary injury - bitterness, paralysis, self-mythologizing - is often self-inflicted. At the same time, the metaphor admits limits: mishaps are still knives. You can be careful and still get cut. The line’s quiet toughness is that it avoids the cheap promise that everything happens for a reason; it argues instead that meaning is something you manufacture under pressure.
Context matters. Lowell lived through national fracture, public controversy, and the churn of reform-era idealism. As a poet and critic in a culture that prized character-building narratives, he offers a version of resilience that’s less about smiling through hardship and more about technique: learn where the edge is, respect it, and use what you can. The sentence itself is a handle - smooth, memorable, meant to be held in moments when you’re tempted to grab the blade.
The subtext has a 19th-century moral spine, but it’s not pious. Lowell doesn’t deny pain; he relocates agency. “As we grasp them” shifts the center of gravity away from fate and toward choice, suggesting that the secondary injury - bitterness, paralysis, self-mythologizing - is often self-inflicted. At the same time, the metaphor admits limits: mishaps are still knives. You can be careful and still get cut. The line’s quiet toughness is that it avoids the cheap promise that everything happens for a reason; it argues instead that meaning is something you manufacture under pressure.
Context matters. Lowell lived through national fracture, public controversy, and the churn of reform-era idealism. As a poet and critic in a culture that prized character-building narratives, he offers a version of resilience that’s less about smiling through hardship and more about technique: learn where the edge is, respect it, and use what you can. The sentence itself is a handle - smooth, memorable, meant to be held in moments when you’re tempted to grab the blade.
Quote Details
| Topic | Learning from Mistakes |
|---|---|
| Source | Help us find the source |
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