John Maxwell Coetzee, Vergogna, Einaudi
Forse non c’è un tempo per nascere e uno per morire, né uno per uccidere e uno per guarire. Forse non esistono, nell’opaca dimensione degli uomini, nella loro patetica debolezza travestita d’impeto, né il tempo per amare né quello per odiare, e all’orizzonte impallidiscono fino a svanire tanto il tempo per la guerra quanto quello per la pace.
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