I Had Wanted Life Not To Bother

And No, It Wasn't Shame I Now Felt, Or Guilt, But Something Rarer In My Life And Stronger Than Both: Remorse. A Feeling Which Is More Complicated, Curdled, And Primeval. Whose Chief Characteristic Is That Nothing Can Be Done About It: Too Much Time Has Passed, Too Much Damage Has Been Done, For Amends To Be Made.

That's One Of The Central Problems Of History, Isn't It, Sir? The Question Of Subjective Versus Objective Interpretation, The Fact That We Need To Know The History Of The Historian In Order To Understand The Version That Is Being Put In Front Of Us.

...god Knows You Can Have Complication And Difficulty Without Any Compensating Depth Or Seriousness

In Britain I'm Sometimes Regarded As A Suspiciously Europeanized Writer, Who Has This Rather Dubious French Influence.

I Was Initially Planning To Write About Grief In Terms Of Eurydice And The Myth Thereof. By That Point The Overall Metaphor Of Height And Depth And Flat And Falling And Rising Was Coming Into Being In My Mind.