The Historian (n.) looks backward. In the end he also believes backward.
A Historian (n.) worth the name can remint the universally known into something never heard of before, so simply and profoundly that the simplicity is lost in the profundity and the profundity in the simplicity.
The Historian (n.) is happy to harbour not an immortal soul but many mortal souls — his is the kingdom of heaven of change, the backworldsmen's a grey unending mist.
Historian (n.) cease to instruct the moment they begin to generalize, and then reveal their weakness in dark obscurities.
Historian (n.) suffer a kind of hydrophobia toward the meaningless coincidences in which the lives of individuals and nations are so rich.
A Historian (n.) looks backwards, and ends up believing backwards too: look for beginnings and you become a crab.