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Like all bitter men, Flint knew less than half the story and was more interested in unloading his own peppery feelings than in learning the truth.

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For me, a page of good prose is where one hears the rain and the noise of battle. It has the power to give grief or universality that lends it a youth...more

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Wisdom we know is the knowledge of good and evil, not the strength to choose between the two.