Eu, geralmente, não guardo a maioria dos romances que leio. Às vezes deixo acumular algumas coisas, alguns pockets, e faço minhas doações. Mas há alguns especiais que ficam aqui ao lado. Falei 3 vezes deste livro do Michael Cunningham (aquele que escreveu "As horas") no ano passado e, incrivelmente, quando peguei o livro agora, a história voltou. Coisa rara de acontecer depois de ter finalizado o livro há 1 ano. Leiam. História incrível, narrativa incrível. Linguagem sem frescura e sem arrogância (coisa que ando leio e odiando por aí).
E na página 225:
"And you´re not the first fool for love," she says.
Thank you, Uta. Thank you, friend. But it won´t do, will it? I have, it seems, gone beyond consolation, there´s not much for me in the image of myself, however true, as another sad citizen doing the little dance.
It might be better if I could howl and weep with you. Can´t, though, even if I wanted to, even if I thought you could bear the spectacle. I´m dry inside. There´s a ball of hair and tar lodged in my belly.
"No," he says, "I´m not." Because really, what else can he say?
"And you´re not the first fool for love," she says.
Thank you, Uta. Thank you, friend. But it won´t do, will it? I have, it seems, gone beyond consolation, there´s not much for me in the image of myself, however true, as another sad citizen doing the little dance.
It might be better if I could howl and weep with you. Can´t, though, even if I wanted to, even if I thought you could bear the spectacle. I´m dry inside. There´s a ball of hair and tar lodged in my belly.
"No," he says, "I´m not." Because really, what else can he say?
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Thank you, my friend! Na lista!
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