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826 pages, Kindle Edition
First published January 1, 1935
‘Harvard, eh!’ George Pentland said again, slowly looking his cousin over from head to foot. ‘Son, you’re flyin’ high, you are!… Now don’t fly so high you never get back to earth again!… You know the rest of us who didn’t go to Harvard still have to walk around upon the ground down here,’ he said. ‘So don’t fly too high or we may not even be able to see you!’
He saw the furious streets of life with their unending flood-tide of a million faces, the enormous library with its million books; or was it just one moment in the flood-tide of the city, at five o’clock, a voice, a face, a brawny lusty girl with smiling mouth who passed him in an instant at the Park Street station, stood printed in the strong October wind a moment – breast, belly, arm, and thigh, and all her brawny lustihood – and then had gone into the man-swarm, lost for ever, never found?
Yes, for the most part, the members of Professor Hatcher’s class belonged to this great colony of the lost Americans. They belonged to that huge tribe of all the damned and lost who feel that everything is going to be all right with them if they can only take a trip, or learn a rule, or meet a person. They belonged to that futile, desolate, and forsaken horde who felt that all will be well with their lives, that all the power they lack themselves will be supplied, and all the anguish, fury, and unrest, the confusion and the dark damnation of man’s soul can magically be healed if only they eat bran for breakfast, secure an introduction to a celebrated actress…
Man’s youth is a wonderful thing: it is so full of anguish and of magic and he never comes to know it as it is, until it has gone from him for ever… And that is the reason why, when youth is gone, every man will look back upon that period of his life with infinite sorrow and regret. It is the bitter sorrow and regret of a man who knows that once he had a great talent and wasted it, of a man who knows that once he had a great treasure and got nothing from it, of a man who knows that he had strength enough for everything and never used it.
“In this small backwater town ringed by mountains, Wolfe would rise to manhood blessed with a prodigious memory and an eye for detail rarely matched by other American writers. He would leave Asheville and go to the great and glittering cities before settling down to write about these mountains and his family and his town and everything that happened to him on his star-crossed voyage along the plains of his own life. Thomas Wolfe took it all in and gave it all back and made it famous all over the world.”
“The trains rushed on across the brown autumnal land, by wink of water and the rocky coasts, the small white towns and flaming colors and the lonely, tragic and elemental beauty of New England. It was the country of its heart’s desire, the dark Helen in his blood forever burning—and now the fast approach across October land, the engine smoke that streaked back on the sharp gray air that day.”
“Then the great train was given to the night and darkness, the great train hurtled through the night across the lonely, wild, and secret earth, bearing on to all their thousand destinations its freight of unknown lives—some to morning, cities, new lands, and the joy of voyages, and some to known faces, voices and the hills of home—but which to certain fortune, peace, security, and love, no man could say.”
This is all: their words have vanished, all memory of the moments they made then has also vanished: one remembers only their silence and their still faces lifted in phantasmal light of lost time; one sees them ever, still and silent, as they slide from darkness on the river of time; one sees them waiting...all silent and all damned to die...That silent meeting is a summary of all the meetings of men's life: in the silence one hears the slow sad breathing of humanity, one knows the human destiny. (18762-68)Given the density and duration of the story, all this might seem too much for the reader to bear. Yet undercurrent of the mad sadness is so subtle that it easily becomes overshadowed by moments of wonder and beauty. "Brother, have you seen starlight on the rails? (18000) The novel concludes with the dissolution of Eugene youth. He writes "that proud inviolability of youth was broken not to be restored" at the same time he throws open the door to a new chapter, marked not with tragedy, but love.