[b]Mario Vargas Llosa
It’s easier to imagine the death of one person than those of a hundred or a thousand. When multiplied, suffering becomes abstract. It’s not easy to be moved by abstract things.[/b]
Twelve more today.
I am somewhat allergic to explanations that divide men and women into frozen categories and attribute to each sex its characteristic virtues and shortcomings.
True, but that doesn’t make men any less from Mars and Women any less from Venus.
We invent fictions in order to live somehow the many lives we would like to lead when we barely have one at our disposal.
Or, for some of us, non-fictions.
The essential difference between the culture of the past and the entertainment of today is that the products of the former sought to transcend mere present time, to endure, to stay alive for future generations, while the products of the latter are made to be consumed instantly and disappear, like cake or popcorn.
Depending on the products of course.
They had forgotten the abuses, the murders, the corruption, the spying, the isolation, the fear: horror had become myth. Everybody had jobs and there wasn’t so much crime.
Sounds like human nature to me.
Nostalgia is cowardice.
Well, I guess that settles that.