All silently the space of love transformed, Congealed into a frame one could not enter.

We were unprepared for the pain of this last Leave-taking.

Let’s start with time. As T. S. Eliot wrote some 70 years ago, “In my beginning is my end.”

“April is the cruelest month,” T.S. Eliot wrote almost 100 years ago. He could not have guessed how cruel it would be in 2020.

The concept of law joins the three writers we will be exploring this fall—Dickens, Dostoevsky and Kafka—but our course is not really about legal institutions.

Some 30 years ago I was finishing my first book on Faulkner — a labor of love and of critical ambition.