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Whatever request for complicity, in whatever labyrinth of despair, it made of the listener, whatever demand for relief from situations which were by definition unrelievable, these requests, these demands could only be made of the very new to such labyrinths, such situations. And time, even as he munched flat bread, was erasing that status.When the canon comes crumbling down, who wil ...more
Today, however, art is about the only thing that can redeem religion, and the clerics will never forgive us that.
Unreal CityThis is a difficult book to review, difficult to put one's thought's and feelings into words, the written word is perhaps insufficient to the task (a meme of this novel, I think). Following are some random thoughts.
Under the brown fog of a winter noon
Upstairs a woman was laughing, and the laughter grew, ghter grew, laughter: “Stop it! Stop it will you?” in Mr Richards’ harsh voice. “Just stop it.” op it, ghter grew ew.
"...the moon and something called George…”
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