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.

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

Teenagers today are more free to be themselves and to accept themselves.

Nothing endures. Not a tree. Not love. Not even death by violence.

The summer of 1943 at Exeter was as happy a time as I ever had in my life.

the scornful force of his tone turned the word into a curse

But something held me back. Perhaps I was stopped by that level of feeling, deeper than thought, which contains the truth.