I Never Cared What Kind Of Grade

And I Really Do Think That The Difficulty Of Research Makes It More Real To You Than Punching A Thing To Find Out How Many Men Were Killed At This Particular Action.

The Point I Would Make Is That The Novelist And The Historian Are Seeking The Same Thing: The Truth – Not A Different Truth: The Same Truth – Only They Reach It, Or Try To Reach It, By Different Routes. Whether The Event Took Place In A World Now Gone To Dust, Preserved By Documents And Evaluated By Scholarship, Or In The Imagination, Preserved By Memory And Distilled By The Creative Process, They Both Want To Tell Us How It Was: To Re-create It, By Their Separate Methods, And Make It Live Again In The World Around Them.

I've Never Known, At Least A Modern Historical Instance, Where The Truth Wasn't Superior To Distortion In Every Way.

North Was Only A Direction Indicated By A Compass--if A Man Had One, That Is, For Otherwise There Was No North Or South Or East Or West; There Was Only The Brooding Desolation.

A University Is Just A Group Of Buildings Gathered Around A Library.