terça-feira, 5 de abril de 2016

Minha Toni Morrison

Trecho da página 158 de "God Help the Child"

They will blow it, she thought. Each will cling to a sad little story of hurt and sorrow - some long-ago trouble and pain life dumped on their pure and innocent selves. And each one will rewrite that story forever, knowing the plot, guessing the theme, inventing its meaning and dismissing its origin. What waste. She knew from personal experience how hard loving was, how selfish and how easily sundered. Witholding sex or relying on it, ignoring children or devouring them, rerouting true feelings or locking them out. Youth being the excuse for that fortune-cookie love - until it wasn't, until it became pure adult stupidity.

A maior. 

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