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As I walked briskly out the road the wind knifed at my face, but this sun caressed the back of my neck.

John Knowles

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John Knowles
Age: 75 †
Born: 1926
Born: September 16
Died: 2001
Died: November 29
Journalist
Novelist
Writer
Fairmont
West Virginia
Walked
Road
Sun
Wind
Face
Briskly
Faces
Caressed
Back
Neck
Necks

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It was demeaning to scrape affection from virtually everyone you encountered. That was immature.
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the scornful force of his tone turned the word into a curse
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The best teaching I ever experienced was at Exeter. Yale was a distinct letdown afterward.
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You have to do what you think is the right thing, but just make sure it’s the right thing in the long run, and not just for the moment.
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My father was in the coal business in West Virginia. Both dad and mother were, however, originally from Massachusetts New England, to them, meant the place to go if you really wanted an education.
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All of them, all except Phineas, constructed at infinite cost to themselves these Maginot Lines against this enemy they thought they saw across the frontier, this enemy who never attacked that way-if he ever attacked at all if he was indeed the enemy.
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But something held me back. Perhaps I was stopped by that level of feeling, deeper than thought, which contains the truth.
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I did no know everything there was to know about myself, and knew that I did not know it.
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Nothing endures. Not a tree. Not love. Not even death by violence.
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I never killed anybody and I never developed an intense level of hatred for the enemy. Because my war ended before I ever put on a uniform I was on active duty all my time at school I killed my enemy there.
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There are simply more young people than there ever were. You get this feeling of strength. Also, large numbers can be a drawback, making it difficult to lose one's anonymity.
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As I said, this was my sarcastic summer. It was only long after that I recognized sarcasm as the protest of people who are weak.
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I felt that I was not, never had been and never would be a living part of this overpoweringly solid and deeply meaningful world around me.
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So the more things remained the same, the more they changed after all. Nothing endures. Not love, not a tree, not even a death by violence.
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Exeter was, I suspect, more crucial in my life than in the lives of most members of my class, and conceivably, than in the lives of almost anyone else who ever attended the school.
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Everyone has a moment in history which belongs particularly to him.
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So the more things remain the same, the more they change after all.
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Sarcasm... the protest of those who are weak.
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I began to know that each morning reasserted the problems of night before, that sleep suspended all but changed nothing, that you couldn’t make yourself over between dawn and dusk.
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What I mean is, I love winter, and when you really love something, then it loves you back, in whatever way it has to love.
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