An appreciation of the transience of things, and the concern to rescue them for eternity, is one of the strongest impulses of allegory. By this reckoning history‐writing is an allegorical art of the first order.1
Then felt I like some watcher of the skies When a new planet swims into his ken; Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes He star'd at the Pacific – and all his men Look'd at each other with a wild surmise – Silent, upon a peak in Darien 1
You know, if one person, just one person does it they may think he's really sick and they won't take him. And if two people, two people do it, in harmony, they may think they're both faggots and they won't take either of them. And three people do it, three, can you imagine, three people walking in singin a bar of Alice's Restaurant and walking out. They may think it's an organization. And can you, can you imagine fifty people a day, I said fifty people a day walking in singin a bar of Alice's Restaurant and walking out. And friends they may think it's a movement. Arlo Guthrie, Alice's Restaurant, 1966
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