Everybody got drunk,” I once heard him say, referring to the beginning of the Texas revolution, as he gave a side-splitting picture of that bloody episode, “and I realized that somebody must get sober and keep sober.
Watterson recounts a humorous anecdote about a man's realization during the Texas revolution.
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He said he was as good a rebel as lived, that he was only waiting for his wound to heal to get back into the Confederate Army, and that if they wanted to hang him for a spy to go ahead.
Politics and journalism knocked literature sky high, and the novel—it was entitled “One Story’s Good Till Another Is Told”—was laid by and quite forgotten.
O Liberty,” cried Madame Roland, “how many crimes are committed in thy name!” “O Churchism,” may I not say, “how much nonsense is trolled off in thy name!
The Northern radicals were wont to say, “Let the South go,” the more profane among them interjecting “to hell!” The Secessionists liked to prod the New Englanders with what the South was going to do when they got to Boston.
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