How can I believe that a bed is anything but a bed, a woman’s body anything but a site of joy? I must assert… — J. M. Coetzee
How can I believe that a bed is anything but a bed, a woman’s body anything but a site of joy? I must assert my distance from Colonel Joll! I will not suffer for his crimes!
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How can I accept that disaster has overtaken my life when the world continues to move so tranquilly through its cycles?
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Truly, man was not made to live alone!
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It is the knowledge of how contingent my unease is, how dependent on a baby that wails beneath my window one day and does not wail the next, that brings the worst shame to me, the greatest indifference to annihilation.
