Of All The Passions Of Mankind, The

The Point I Would Make Is That The Novelist And The Historian Are Seeking The Same Thing: The Truth – Not A Different Truth: The Same Truth – Only They Reach It, Or Try To Reach It, By Different Routes. Whether The Event Took Place In A World Now Gone To Dust, Preserved By Documents And Evaluated By Scholarship, Or In The Imagination, Preserved By Memory And Distilled By The Creative Process, They Both Want To Tell Us How It Was: To Re-create It, By Their Separate Methods, And Make It Live Again In The World Around Them.

I Never Cared What Kind Of Grade I Got.

Generally The First Week In September Brings The Hottest Weather Of The Year, And This Was No Exception. Overhead The Fans Turned Slow, Their Paddle Blades Stirring The Air Up Close To The Ceiling But Nowheres Else.

The Civil War Defined Us As What We Are And It Opened Us To Being What We Became, Good And Bad Things... It Was The Crossroads Of Our Being, And It Was A Hell Of A Crossroads.

I Prize The Depression, For Instance, Because I Learned The Value Of Things In The Depression That A Way People Who Don't Have To Worry About Such Things Never Learned To Prize It Really, I Believe.