Yes, Of Course We Were Pretentious --

Not Merely Hope, But Any Burdensome Yearning: Ambition, Hatred, Love (especially Love) - How Rarely Do Our Emotions Meet The Object They Seem To Deserve? How Hopelessly We Signal; How Dark The Sky; How Big The Waves. We Are All Lost At See, Washed Between Hope And Despair, Hailing Something That May Never Come To Rescue Us. Catastrophe Has Become Art; But This Is No Reducing Process. It Is Freeing, Enlarging, Explaining. Catastrophe Has Become Art: That Is, After All, What It Is For.

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 The Self-delusions Of The Defeated. ... 'finn?' '"history Is That Certainty Produced At The Point Where The Imperfections Of Memory Meet The Inadequacies Of Documentation." (quoting Patrick Lagrange)

The Greatest Patriotism Is To Tell Your Country When It Is Behaving Dishonorably, Foolishly, Viciously.

Often The Grind Of Book Promotion Wearies You Of Your Own Book - Though At The Same Time This Frees You From Its Clutches.

How Often Do We Tell Our Own Life Story? How Often Do We Adjust, Embellish, Make Sly Cuts? And The Longer Life Goes On, The Fewer Are Those Around To Challenge Our Account, To Remind Us That Our Life Is Not Our Life, Merely The Story We Have Told About Our Life. Told To Others, But — Mainly — To Ourselves.