Disgrace – J. M. Coetzee

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“He has long ceased to be surprised at the range of ignorance of his students. Post-Christian, posthistorical, postliterate, they might as well have been hatched from eggs yesterday.”

The more things change the more they remain the same. History repeating itself, though in a more modest vein. Perhaps history has learned a lesson.”
“The day is not dead yet but living. War, atrocity: every word with which one tries ro wrap up this day, the day swallows down in its black throat.”
“They are black-faced Persians, alike in size, in markings, even in their movements. Twins, in all likelihood, destined since birth for the butcher’s knife. Well, nothing remarkable in that. When did a sheep last die of old age? Sheep do not own themselves, do not own their lives. They exist to be used, every last ounce of them, their flesh to be eaten, their bones to be crushed and fed to poultry. Nothing escapes, except perhaps the gall bladder, which no one will eat. Descartes should have thought of that. The soul, suspended in the dark, bitter gall, hiding.”
“Presumably Lucy is healing too, or if not healing then forgetting, growing scar tissue around the memory of that day, sheating it, sealing it off.”
“For his idea of the world, a world in which men do not use shovels to beat corpses into a more convenient shape for processing.”
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