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Though I knit my brow,
my gaze is fixed
longingly
anyway.
Though I check my tongue,
this tortured face of mine
dissolves in a smile.
Though I drive my heart to hardness,
my body bears
the gooseflesh
of desire.
When I see that man,
how on earth
can my anger
survive?
—Amaru (c. seventh century A. D.)
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English talk is often very short, very much shorter than ours. This is because they all understand each other, are much closer knit than we are. Behind them are generations of “doing it” in the same established way, a way that their long experience of life has hammered out for their own convenience, and which they like. We’re not nearly so closely knit together here, save in certain spots, especially the old spots. In Boston they understand each other with very few words said. So they do in Charleston. But these spots of condensed and hoarded understanding lie far apart, are never confluent, and also differ in their details; while the whole of England is confluent, and details have been slowly worked out through centuries of getting on together, and are accepted and observed exactly like the rules of the game.
—Owen Wister (1860–1938)