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Lorraine Nilon

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“Confidential matters are not dealt with over the telephone, you'd better come here in person. I cannot leave the house, Do you mean you're ill, Yes, I'm ill, the blind man said after a pause. In that case you ought to call a doctor, a real doctor, quipped the functionary, and, delighted with his own wit, he rang off. The man's insolence was like a slap in the face. Only after some minutes had passed, had he regained enough composure to tell his wife how rudely he had been treated. Then, as if he had discovered something that he should have known a long time ago, he murmured sadly, This is the stuff we're made of, half indifference and half malice.”

“There was always a screen behind which one could hide— a superior who in turn had his superior— orders, instructions, duties, commands— and finally the many-headed monster, morale, necessity, hard reality, responsibility, or whatever it was called— there was always a screen behind which to evade the simple law of humanity.”

“Indifference This hate has blossomed like a living love, grieving, watching its own exhaustion. It seeks a face, it seeks flesh, as though it were love. The worldly flesh and the voices that spoke are dead, all has shuddered away, all life hangs on a voice. Days pass in bitter ecstasy to the sad caress of the voice that returns and drains the blood from our faces. Not without sweetness that voice returns to the mind exhausted and trembling: once it trembled for me. But the flesh does not tremble. Only love could set it alight, this hate seeks it out. All the possessions, all the flesh and all the voices in the world cannot equal the burning caress of that body and those eyes. In the bitter ecstasy that kills itself, this hate still finds each day a glance, a broken word, and grasps them, hungrily, like love.”

“Борьба имеет свою прелесть. Бороться - значит жить, пусть борьба приносит горе, пусть она ранит, - все лучше, чем беспросветный мрак отвращения, яд презрительной замкнутости, холод тех, кто отрекся от борьбы, чем смерть сердца, которая зовется равнодушием.”

“Watchman, what of the night? So many victims in so many places need help. We need, above all, to be shaken out of our indifference—the greatest source of danger in the world. For, remember: the opposite of love is not hate but indifference. The opposite of faith is not arrogance by indifference; the opposite of culture is not ignorance but indifference; the opposite of art is not ugliness but indifference. And the opposite of peace is indifference to both peace and war—indifference to hunger and persecution, to imprisonment and humiliation, indifference to torture and persecution.”