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240 pages, Kindle Edition
First published January 26, 2016
‘There is no labyrinth as treacherous as that with neither paths nor walls.’
“A riverbank goes wherever the riverbank does. […] I’ll be the riverbank and you be the river.”
‘It was very difficult for her to take her attention away from the thin man, even for a moment. Somewhere, tickling the back of her brain, she felt a certainty that if she wasn’t constantly watching this fellow, she would miss whole miracles, whole wonders – things that he let fall incidentally off himself as other men might shed dandruff.’

In a rapid riot of conflicting languages, she answered all his questions.
In Yiddish she said, “I am better now,” and then in Russian, “I do not think my father will come back.” In German she said, “I am myself,” and then in Polish, “And now I am waiting for you.”
Homens que tentam compreender o mundo sem a ajuda de crianças são como homens que tentam fazer pão sem a ajuda de fermento.
A desilusão, mesmo que pesada, é algo que enfiamos numa mala com suficiente facilidade – tem arestas vivas e cantos arredondados e cabe sempre no último espaço que resta. Com a esperança passa-se algo muito semelhante. Todavia, de algum modo, a mistura das duas é qualquer coisa muito menos uniforme – incómoda, mais volumosa e não menos pesada. É demasiado delicada para se enfiar numa mala e virar as costas. Tem de ser levada em mãos.