I Lost Part Of Myself To Him

Everyone Has A Moment In History Which Belongs Particularly To Him. It Is The Moment When His Emotions Achieve Their Most Powerful Sway Over Him, And Afterward When You Say To This Person "the World Today" Or "life" Or "reality" He Will Assume That You Mean This Moment, Even If It Is Fifty Years Past. The World, Through His Unleashed Emotions, Imprinted Itself Upon Him, And He Carries The Stamp Of That Passing Moment Forever.

The Summer Of 1943 At Exeter Was As Happy A Time As I Ever Had In My Life.

It Was Hard To Remember In The Heavy And Sensual Clarity Of These Mornings; I Forgot Whom I Hated And Who Hated Me. I Wanted To Break Out Crying From Stabs Of Hopeless Joy, Or Intolerable Promise, Or Because These Mornings Were Too Full Of Beauty For Me, Because I Knew Of Too Much Hate To Be Contained In A World Like This.

This Was The Tree, And It Seemed To Me Standing There To Resemble Those Men, The Giants Of Your Childhood, Whom You Encounter Years Later And Find That They Are Not Merely Smaller In Relation To Your Growth, But They Are Absolutely Smaller, Shrunken By Age. In This Double Demotion The Old Giants Have Become Pygmies While You Were Looking The Other Way.

The Next Major Advance In The Health Of The American People Will Be Determined By What The Individual Is Willing To Do For Himself.