I often think of a Bertholt Brecht poem written in exile in 1939:
“Truly I live in dark times…
What kind of times are these, when…
To talk about trees is almost a crime…
Because it implies silence about so many horrors?”
B…
I often think of a Bertholt Brecht poem written in exile in 1939:
“Truly I live in dark times…
What kind of times are these, when…
To talk about trees is almost a crime…
Because it implies silence about so many horrors?”
B…
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