Читать книгу Peter Gzowski - R.B. Fleming - Страница 7

The past is an empty café terrace.An airless dusk before thunder. A man running.And no way now to know what happened then — None at all — unless, of course, you improvise — Eavan Boland, “The Black Lace Fan My Mother Gave Me,” Outside History

All remembrance of things past is fiction.— Ernest Hemingway, A Moveable Feast: The Restored Edition