But If We Are To Remain A

We're In English Class, Which For Most Of Us Is An Excruciating Exercise In Staying Awake Through The Great Classics Of Literature. These Works - Groundbreaking, Incendiary, Timeless - Have Been Pureed By The Curriculum Monsters Into A Digestible Pabulum Of Themes And Factoids We Can Spew Back On A Test. Scoring Well On Tests Is The Sort Of Happy Thing That Gets The School District The Greenbacks They Crave. Understanding And Appreciating The Material Are Secondary.

There In The City's Steam-and-smoke-smudged Harbor Is The Most Extraordinary Sight Of All: A Great Copper-clad Lady With A Torch In One Hand And A Book In The Other. It Is Not A Statesman Or A God Or A War Hero Who Welcomes Us To This New World. It Is But An Ordinary Woman Lighting The Way- A Lady Offering Us The Liberty To Pursue Our Dreams If We've The Courage To Begin.

I Am A Jumble Of Passions, Misgivings, And Wants. It Seems That I Am Always In A State Of Wishing And Rarely In A State Of Contentment.

A Man Bumps Me On His Busy Way Without So Much As An Apology. But That Is All Right. I Forgive You, Busy Man About Town With The Sharp Elbows. Hail And Farewell To You! For I, Gemma Doyle, Am To Have A Splendid Christmas In London Town. All Shall Be Well. God Rest Us Merry Gentlemen. And Gentlewomen.

We Create The Illusions We Need To Go On. And One Day, When They No Longer Dazzle Or Comfort, We Tear Them Down, Brick By Glittering Brick, Until We Are Left With Nothing But The Bright Light Of Honesty. The Light Is Liberating. Necessary. Terrifying. We Stand Naked And Emptied Before It. And When It Is Too Much For Our Eyes To Take, We Build A New Illusion To Shield Us From Its Relentless Truth.