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447 pages, Paperback
First published December 17, 1946
“Insects were scurrying about in the shade cast by the grass, and the lawn was a huge monotonous forest of thousands of little green blades, all equal, all alike, hiding the world from each other. Anguished, she thought, "I don't want to be just another blade of grass.�Part historical fiction part philosophy, by was written, I can only imagine, to make us wonder about life itself.
‘I don’t believe in the future,� I said.
‘There will be a future, that at least is certain.�
‘But all of you speak of it as if it were going to be a paradise. There won’t be any paradises, and that’s equally certain.�
‘Of course not.� He studied me, seemed to be searching my face to find the words that might win me over. ‘Paradise for us is simply the moment when the dreams we dream today are finally realized. We’re well aware that after that other men will have new needs, new desires, will make new demands.’�
‘I’ve had a little smattering of history. You’re not teaching me anything. Everything that’s ever done finally ends by being undone. I realize that. And from the hour you’re born you begin to die. But between birth and death there’s life.’�
‘In my opinion, we should concern ourselves only with that part of the future on which we have a hold. But we should try our best to enlarge our hold on it as much as possible.’�
‘You admit,� I said after a short silence, ‘that you’re working for only a limited future.�
‘A limited future, a limited life � that’s our lot as men. And it’s enough,� he said. ‘If I knew that in fifty years it would be against the law to employ children in factories, against the law for men to work more than ten hours a day, if I knew that the people would choose their own representatives, that the press would be free, I would be completely satisfied.� Again his eyes fell upon me. ‘You find the workers� conditions abominable. Well, think of those workers you know personally, only of them. Don’t you want to help change their lot in life?’�