Literary notes about Hour (AI summary)
Across literary genres and eras, the term "hour" is deployed with a multifaceted significance—serving as both a precise measure of time and a symbol rich with emotional and thematic nuance. In some works, "hour" punctuates narrative progress, marking the exact moments when events occur, such as the methodical divisions of a day in The Count of Monte Cristo [1] or scheduled appointments in Emma [2]. Meanwhile, it frames the intensity of fleeting experiences or strenuous endeavors, as seen in works by Casanova where half-hour intervals capture the pace of passionate pursuits and restless anticipation [3, 4]. Poets and dramatists frequently imbue the word with a deeper resonance, using it to evoke the inexorable advance of fate or the transient nature of ephemeral joys and sorrows, much as hinted in Shakespeare’s contemplations of destiny and by Byron’s reflective verses [5, 6]. Whether employed to denote a literal passage of time or to symbolize the weight of an imminent turning point, "hour" thus serves as a flexible literary device that bridges measure and metaphor.
- Is not a day divided into twenty-four hours, each hour into sixty minutes, and every minute sub-divided into sixty seconds?
— from The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas and Auguste Maquet - And when you get there, you must tell him at what time you would have him come for you again; and you had better name an early hour.
— from Emma by Jane Austen - I worked for half an hour, steaming with perspiration, and tiring Semiramis, without being able to come to the point.
— from The Memoirs of Jacques Casanova de Seingalt, 1725-1798. Complete by Giacomo Casanova - After dinner she remained a quarter of an hour with me, but I refrained from any amorous attempts.
— from The Memoirs of Jacques Casanova de Seingalt, 1725-1798. Complete by Giacomo Casanova - You have stayed me in a happy hour: I was about to protest I loved you.
— from The Complete Works of William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare - An hour may lay it in the dust: and when Can man its shattered splendour renovate, Recall its virtues back, and vanquish Time and Fate? LXXXV.
— from Childe Harold's Pilgrimage by Baron George Gordon Byron Byron