If it were possible to talk to the unborn, one could never explain to them how it feels to be alive, for life is washed in the speechless real.
History, like a vast river, propels logs, vegetation, rafts, and debris; it is full of live and dead things, some destined for resurrection; it mingles many waters and holds in solution invisible substances stolen from distant soils.
[T]hat is the triumph of history - truth absolute is not at hand; the original with which to match the copy does not exist.
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