The StrangereBook - 1989 | 1st Vintage International ed.
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Throughout the whole absurd life I’d lived, a dark wind had been rising toward me… What did other people’s death’s or a mother’s love matter to me; what did his God or the lives people choose or the fate they think they elect matter to me…What would it matter if he were accused of murder and then executed because he didn’t cry at his mother’s funeral? Salamano’s dog was worth just as much as his wife.
As if that blind rage had washed me clean, rid me of hope; for the first time, in that night alive with signs and stars, I opened myself to the gentle indifference of the world.
"I would have liked to have tried explaining to him cordially, almost affectionately, that I had never been able to truly feel remorse for anything."
"Then he asked me if I wasn't interested in a change of life. I said that people never change their lives, that in any case one life was as good as another and that I wasn't dissatisfied with mine here at all."
"Mother died today. Or, maybe, yesterday; I can't be sure."
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