“
There are always two deaths, the real one and the one people know about.
— Jean Rhys
writer, novelist
1890 – 1979
There are always two deaths, the real one and the one people know about.
Reading makes immigrants of us all. It takes us away from home, but more important, it finds homes for us everywhere.
I thought if I told no one it might not be true.
I hated the mountains and the hills, the rivers and the rain. I hated the sunsets of whatever colour, I hated its beauty and its magic and the secret I would never know. I hated its indifference and the cruelty which was part of its loveliness. Above all I hated her. For she belonged to the magic and the loveliness. She had left me thirsty and all my life would be thirst and longing for what I had lost before I found it.
Only the magic and the dream are true — all the rest's a lie.
