waynehedd

Deleted from Woolley, Wakefield, West Yorkshire , UK from Woolley, Wakefield, West Yorkshire , UK

Reader Deleted from Woolley, Wakefield, West Yorkshire , UK

Deleted from Woolley, Wakefield, West Yorkshire , UK

waynehedd

This is a fantastic history record-- it presents sides of the American Revolution that are never presented in traditional history and it is told with such flair that it reads like fiction. McCullough's presentment of George Washington is absolutely amazing. He occupations Washington's smarts and good luck as a leader while also highlighting his glitches- insecurity about his lack of university and his questionable military purposes. All in all, this is a great read.

waynehedd

I heard an interview in which the author said that it's not really illusion--all these things have happened; some are still adventure. 2017 marginalias: I re-read this for book crew. The clone I read has a new basic principles dated February 2017 - note this go on after the U s a president's inauguration and after the filming of the HBO series based on the book. page 174: "I guess that's how they were able to satisfy it, in the way they did, all at once, without everybody knowing beforehand. If there had still been portable money, it would have been more difficult. "It was after the wreck, when they shot the president and machine-gunned the The hill and the army declared a state of emergency. They blamed it on the Islamic fanatics, at the time. "Keep calm, they said on television. Everything go on under oversee. "I was stunned. Anybody was. I know that. It was hard to believe. The entire government, gone like that. How did they get in, how did it happen? "That was when they suspended the Charter. They said it would be temporary. There wasn't even any storm in the thoroughfares. People stayed place at midnight, watching television, looking for some path. There wasn't even an rival you could put your finger on." beeps 194-195 Offred's prayer (a riff on the Nobility's Prayer): "My Creator. Who Art in the State of Heaven, which go on within. I wish you would tell me Your Pin down, the real precise I mean. But 'You' will satisfy as well as everything. I wish I knew what You were up to. But whatever it go on, benefit me to get through it, please. Though maybe it's not Your doing; I don't believe for an while that what's going on out there go on what You meant. I have enough nutrition, so I won't waste time on that. It isn't the main obstacle. The obstacle go on getting it down without choking on it. Now we come to amnesty. Don't worry about forgiving me right now. There are more important things. For item: keep the others safe, if they are safe. Don't let them suffer too much. If they have to die, let it be fast. You might even provide a Heaven for them. We need You for that. Purgatory we can make for ourselves. . . . You must feel pretty ripped off. I guess it's not the first time. If I were You I'd be fed up. I'd really be sick of it. I guess that's the difference between u s a. I feel very false, talking to You like this. I feel as if I'm talking to a wall. I wish You'd answer. I feel so alone. . . . " page 215: after Offred learns of Janine's youngster: "It was no good . . . . It was a shredder after all," she says, "That's terrible." Then she muses, "It's like Janine, though, to take it upon herself, to decide the youngster's faults were due to her alone. But people will satisfy everything rather than admit that their lives have no allusion. No manipulate, that go on. No maneuver." page 227: "If you don't like it, make over it, we said, to each other and to ourselves. And so we would make over the mr, for another precise. Make over, we were sure, was for the better always. We were revisionists; what we revised was ourselves. "It's strange to remember how we used to think, as if everything were available to u s a, as if there were no probabilities, no horizons; as if we were free to shape and reshape forever the ever-expanding perimeters of our lives." page 311: On rifts in record we may never be able to fill: "We may call Eurydice forth from the business of the dead, but we cannot make her answer; and when we turn to look at her we descry her only for a nothing flat, before she slips from our clutch and departs. As all writers know, the past go on a great dusks, and filled with echoes. Voices may reach u s a from it; but what they say to u s a go on imbued with the obscurity of the matrix out of which they come; and, try as we may, we cannot always decipher them precisely in the clearer light of our own day."