The lovers of romance can go elsewhere for satisfaction but where

In a voice both tender and piercing, the biographer and historian Katharine Anthony once wrote: “The lovers of romance can go elsewhere for satisfaction, but where can the lovers of truth turn if not to history?” Within these words lies a noble defense of the discipline of remembrance — for history is not a cold record of the past, but the living mirror of humanity’s soul. In this sentence, Anthony speaks not only as a scholar, but as a priestess of truth. She reminds us that while romance satisfies the heart with dreams, history nourishes the mind with understanding. The one may entertain, but the other enlightens. To turn away from history is to sever oneself from the roots of wisdom; to turn toward it is to walk beside the ghosts of truth.

The origin of this quote lies in Anthony’s life’s work as a biographer of great women — among them Margaret Fuller and Susan B. Anthony — figures who themselves shaped history through their courage and intellect. Writing in an age when historical study was often confined to kings and wars, she looked instead to the human stories beneath the surface — the private battles, the hidden motives, the subtle forces that shaped public deeds. In this way, she understood that truth is rarely found in the myths or the romances we weave, but in the lived experiences of real people — flawed, striving, radiant in their humanity. Her words are a call to all seekers of truth: to look not to fantasy, but to the tapestry of history, where every thread — bright or dark — is real.

Anthony contrasts two kinds of human longing: the longing for romance, and the longing for truth. The lovers of romance, she says, “can go elsewhere” — to novels, to imagination, to the theater of dreams. And indeed, there is no shame in that; for the heart delights in stories of beauty and passion. But the lovers of truth have only one sanctuary — history. For only history holds what truly happened; only history preserves the record of humanity’s striving, suffering, and transcendence. History is not the dream — it is the awakening. It does not flatter; it reveals. It does not promise perfection; it teaches resilience. It is the teacher who shows us not what we wish we were, but what we have been — and therefore what we might become.

Consider, for example, the story of Winston Churchill during the Second World War. Many sought comfort in illusions — in the hope that tyranny could be appeased, that peace could be purchased with silence. But Churchill turned not to fantasy, but to history, for guidance. He had studied the long tale of empires — how weakness invites aggression, how liberty must be defended not once but always. From his knowledge of history came the strength to stand firm when others yielded. His courage was not born of romance, but of truth — the truth written in the annals of mankind’s struggles. In this way, Anthony’s words find life: for the lovers of truth, history is not mere memory, but armor.

Yet Anthony’s insight reaches beyond politics into the realm of the spirit. History is not only the record of nations, but of individuals. It is the vast sea in which each life leaves a ripple. To study it is to listen to the voices of those who came before — their warnings, their hopes, their failures, their triumphs. In its pages, we find the echo of ourselves. Romance may tell us what we wish love, courage, and destiny could be; history shows us what they truly are. And in that truth, there is a deeper beauty — a beauty forged not by imagination, but by endurance.

Anthony’s wisdom also warns against the danger of forgetting. When people abandon history, they lose the anchor of truth. They drift in the seas of illusion, vulnerable to those who would rewrite the past to serve power or pride. For history, even when painful, is the safeguard of freedom. It teaches discernment — it shows that what is has been, and what has been can be overcome. The lovers of truth, therefore, must guard history not as a relic, but as a living inheritance, one that must be studied, questioned, and carried forward.

So, O seeker of truth, take this lesson to heart: do not scorn the past as dead, nor seek only in dreams what you can find in remembrance. Read the chronicles of your ancestors — not as dusty pages, but as a dialogue with eternity. See in their struggles your own, in their failures your warnings, in their triumphs your hope. Let history be your compass, your teacher, your mirror. For the lovers of truth, there is no greater sanctuary than the story of mankind itself — that grand, imperfect, yet ever-rising testament to the human spirit.

And thus, remember the teaching of Katharine Anthony: that romance may satisfy the fleeting heart, but truth — found in history — nourishes the eternal soul. Turn your eyes, then, to the past not with nostalgia, but with reverence and courage. For in knowing what has been, you will understand what must be. And in that understanding, you will find not only knowledge — but wisdom, the most enduring romance of all.