What is history? Any thoughts, Webster?''History is the lies of the victors,' I replied, a little too quickly.'Yes, I was rather afraid you'd say that. Well, as long as you remember that it is also th...
What had Old Joe Hunt answered when I knowingly claimed that history was the lies of the victors? As long as you remember that it is also the self-delusions of the defeated. Do we remember that enough...
The sadness of life. That was another conundrum he would occasionally ponder.
The long answer was too time-consuming to give. The short answer was too painful. It went like this. It was a question of what heartbreak is, and how exactly the heart breaks, and what is left of it a...
I blushed. You haven't seen a bald man in his sixties blush? Oh, it happens, just as it does to a hairy, spotty fifteen-year-old. And because it's rarer, it sends the blusher tumbling back to that tim...
Hoe vaak vertellen we ons eigen levensverhaal? Hoe vaak stellen we bij, verfraaien we, laten we handig dingen weg? En hoe langer het leven doorgaat, hoe minder er om ons heen overblijven om onze versi...
For most of us, the first experience of love, even if it doesn’t work out – perhaps especially when it doesn’t work out – promises that here is the thing that validates, that vindicates life. And thou...
He thought of trying to explain something he had recently noticed about himself: that if anyone insulted him, or one of his friends, he didn't really mind--or not much, anyway. Whereas if anyone insul...
Mariac tells us about the books he's read, the painters he's liked, the plays he's seen. He finds himself by looking in the works of others. He defines his own faith by a passionate anger against Gide...
To own a certain book - and to choose it without help - is to define yourself.
This was long before the term 'single-parent family' came into use; back then it was a 'broken home'...
Later on in life, you expect a bit of rest, don't you? You think you deserve it. I did, anyway. But then you begin to understand that the reward of merit is not life's business.
I don't ever want to get old. Spare me that. Have you the power? No, even you don't have the power, alas.
Everyone has their love story. Everyone. It may have been a fiasco, it may have fizzled out, it may never even have got going, it may have been all in the mind, that doesn't make it any less real. Som...
Back in 'my day'—though I didn't claim ownership of it at the time, still less do I now . . .
And one other thing: don't ask me about the weather. I don't much remember what the weather has been like during my life. True, I can remember how hot sun gave greater impetus to sex; how sudden snow...
Am I to be a king, or just a pig?' Gustave writes in his . At nineteen, it always looks as simple as this. There is the life, and then there is the not-life; the life of ambition served, or the life o...
Уметност припада сваком и ником. Уметност припада сваком времену и не припада ниједном. Уметност припада онима који је стварају и онима који је доживљавају. Уметност је шапат историје, који надјачава...
This was another of our fears: that Life wouldn't turn out to be like Literature. Look at our parents--were they the stuff of Literature? At best, they might aspire to the condition of onlookers and b...
Jis buvo gilesnio proto ir griežtesnio būdo nei aš. Logiškai mąstė, o paskui elgėsi remdamasis logiška išvada. Tačiau daugelis iš mūsų, įtariu, daro priešingai: priima instinktyvų sprendimą, paskui ku...