Sarcasm Is The Protest Of The Weak.

Everyone Has A Moment In History Which Belongs Particularly To Him.

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

Stranded In This Mill Town Railroad Yard While The Whole World Was Converging Elsewhere, We Seemed To Be Nothing But Children Playing Among Heroic Men.

Exeter Was, I Suspect, More Crucial In My Life Than In The Lives Of Most Members Of My Class, And Conceivably, Than In The Lives Of Almost Anyone Else Who Ever Attended The School.

I Did No Know Everything There Was To Know About Myself, And Knew That I Did Not Know It.