quarta-feira, 16 de janeiro de 2008

tell me a story




"I had a farm in Africa at the foot of the Ngong Hills.
...
The views were immensely wide. Everything that you saw made for greatness and freedom, and unequaled nobility.
...
Up in this high air you breathed easily, drawing in a vital assurance and lightness of heart. In the highlands you woke up in the morning and thought: Here I am, where I ought to be."

"If I know a song of Africa, of the giraffe and the African new moon lying on her back, of the plows in the fields and the sweaty faces of the coffee pickers, does Africa know a song of me?
Will the air over the plain quiver with a color that I have had on, or the children invent a game in which my name is, or the full moon throw a shadow over the gravel of the drive that was like me, or will the eagles of the Ngong Hills look out for me?"

Sem comentários: