I am currently reading Ken Follet's World Without End. It's such a wonderful book, of the 13th century of England. It's also the sequel to his previous success-acheiving-book, The Pillars of The Earth. I wept, with tears of fear, and of joy, of relief for the protagonist of the book, and that the story turned out so well, and because the story was over.
Both books were set during Medieval times of England, when they depended on the sources of their farmland, when plots of killing the king dawned, when Bread, Cheese and ale were man's greed. Though, the domain storyline, was of a man's dream, to build the most beautiful and strongest cathedral; with its arches that points up, large, colourful windows dominating the walls of the cathedral, and a stone vault.
And he did.
I'm in love with history, and I can't figure out why. When I was 16, I fantasized of being an anthropologist, devote myself to culture, seeking knowledge that awaits me.
Dreams alter its course to a new one every now and then.