The unrecorded past is none other than our old friend, the tree in the primeval forest which fell without being heard.
Barbara TuchmanAbout author
- Author's profession: Historian
- Nationality: american
- Born: January 30, 1912
- Died: February 6, 1989
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Most of the big shore places were closed now. And there were hardly any lights except the shadowy, moving glow of the ferryboat across the sound. And as the moon rose higher, the inessential houses began to melt away till gradually I became aware of the old island here that flowered once for Dutch sailor? eyes, A fresh green breast of the new world. Its vanished trees had once pandered in whispers to the last and greatest of all human dreams. For a transitory, enchanted moment man must have...
F. Scott Fitzgerald