It's A Terrible Thing, Isn't

Even The Most Pragmatic Person Fell Victim At Times To A Longing For Something Other.

Wars Make History Seem Deceptively Simple. They Provide Clear Turning Points, Easy Distinctions.: Before And After, Winner And Loser, Right And Wrong. True History, The Past, Is Not Like That. It Isn't Flat Or Linear. It Has No Outline. It Is Slippery, Like Liquid; Infinite And Unknowable, Like Space. And It Is Changeable: Just When You Think You See A Pattern, Perspective Shifts, An Alternate Version Is Proffered, A Long-forgotten Memory Resurfaces.

. . . Companions Were To Be Valued, Wherever One Found Them.

You'll Beat This. I Know It Doesn't Feel Like It, But You Will. You're A Survivor." "i Don't Want To Survive It." "i Know That, Too," Nell Had Said. "and It's Fair Enough. But Sometimes We Don't Have A Choice.

And Then He Was Kissing Her, And She Was Struck By His Nearness, His Solidity, His Smell. It Was Of The Garden And The Earth And The Sun. When Cassandra Opened Her Eyes, She Realized She Was Crying. She Wasn't Sad, Though, These Were The Tears Of Being Found, Of Having Come Home After A Long Time Away.