He was my North, my South, my East and West, My working week and my Sunday rest, My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song; I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong. The stars are not wanted now: put out every one; Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun; Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood. For nothing now can ever come to any good.
Friday, 27 January 2012
Reading "In defense of History"
Reading the "in defense of history" has overturned almost all my beliefs and values, the disorientation of the historian throughout past and present moves from the books to me. Fuck me. I can't figure out what the hell is happening around us. The world is too complicated to predict. I would love to give prediction. Reasoning is a problem. I wish I could be cleverer.
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