Fallen Knights.
I have read the first assignments for my history class, and I am deeply, truly, disappointed. I love history; it is--and has been--the topic which most captures my imagination. It is a winding, delicate, and striking synthesis of politics, philosophy, and every little thing that has come to define civilization. I love history because I love its constituent parts. I love the moments when things take their place in the order of history, when the chaos fades, receding to reveal the fabric of reason which has ever lain beneath. History has always taken a somewhat considerable part of my reading time. The work of a gifted historian is art. It is a beautiful portrait that conveys thought and emotion, the burning sting of personal disappointment; the staggering enormity of grand empires which slowly grind themselves into the dust, which dust is but the remains of the mighty edifice that was their supposed immortality. No event in history is a matter of black and white. All situations have man...