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1 " If writers only dared to dare, a Suetonius or a Tacitus of the Novel could exist, for the Novel is essentially the history of manners, turned into a story and a play, as is History itself often enough. And there is no other difference than this: that the one, the Novel, cloaks its manners under the disguise of invented characters, while the other, History, provides names and addresses. Only, the Novel probes much deeper than history. It has an ideal, and History has none; it is limited by reality. The Novel also holds the stage much longer. (" A Woman's Vengeance" ) "
2 " Time Out To Cry ©All alone at the end of the dayThe time, just a little past tenEvening has come for a short stayIt’s time for her sorrow againThe smile on her face she’s been holdingSuddenly, she lets fallAnd the feelings begin unfoldingShe comes out of her personal wallAs the world settles down for the nightShe awakens herself from a dreamAnd the girl they all thought had her life going rightIs no longer the image she’d seemShe takes off the disguise she’s been wearingThen opens her heart to the truthBehind closed doors she’s not caringAbout life or love in her youthSo she sits by the mirror spilling tearsAnd cries by herself in the darkA whole day of acting like she has no fearsTakes a lot from an empty heartInside she’s lonely and sadBut acts like she's fine in the dayRevealing her misery, secretly wishing she hadA friend, or a promise to stayShe’s ashamed of the truth she’s been keepingLiving her hours in daylight a lieAnd this is the reason for in darkness she’s weepingTaking time out from each day to cryWritten by Shannen WrassCopyright © 1995 Shannen Wrass. All Rights Reserved "
3 " It is enough to write a few lines about tanks in the streets in some sad country, about a clear injustice, which requires no description; it is enough to move from one side to another, to satisfy someone’s taste, the need of the moment, the need for “big” games to take a peek into everything and to prove everything with cheap opinions formed almost on command, almost as a recipe of measured pain to resolve the crisis, to extinguish the pain based on a few words that don’t change anything except that they flatter vanity and a misguided interest in all dimensions of life and creation, in the air that is being poisoned by smoke from cars, smoke from the television screens, the smoke curtains of politicians, left and right, the smoke of films and pop culture, smokescreens of intelligence that finds an explanation for all this, makes up theories, finds justification for the schizophrenic decisions of the new rulers, for wars, agreements, contracts; finds justification for obedience, for the sale of beliefs under the disguise of conviction, for several awards, for a few moments of illusion in the hocus-pocus world where the truth does not interest anyone anymore, except for ways for lies to be packaged and sold as the greatest truth with the help of big intellectuals that will find a good argument, a good defense and justification for everything, since everything becomes much easier, if a hoax is supported by “scientific” evidence. "
― , Serbian Satire and Aphorisms
4 " There are others who aim at popularity under the disguise of patriotism. "