Nesaprotu tos, kam patīk šī pāreja no vasaras uz rudeni. Ciest nevaru. Mācas virsū depresija. Šupuļtīklā grāmatu vairs palasīt nevar, ļauties viegli ieaijāties un aizmigt arī nevar, jo auksti. Pa naktīm vairs pliks gulēt ar nevar. Auksti. Jāvelk atkal kādi visādi krekli, pidžamas u.tml. nav viars tā, ka vari būt slapjš visu cauru dienu un arī nakti, neatvelkot elpu. pie jūras vairs nevelk un kokiem vēl lapas nesārtojas un nebrūnē ...
tikai atliek vien vākt ābolus un jūsmot par to smaržu un izturēt šo visu.
"That is, a world governed by brute force, humourless arrogance, illusory prestige and primeval stupidity. Men love war because it allows them to look serious. Because they imagine it is the one thing that stops women laughing at them. In it they can reduce women to the status of objects. That is the great distinction between the sexes. Men see objects, women see the relationship between objects. Whether the objects need each other, love each other, match each other. It is an extra dimension of feeling we men are without and one that makes war abhorrent to all real women - and absurd."
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