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333 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 2006
"But I had fallen in with books, they were friendly to me in the quiet hours. For a long time, I remember, the only book I had was 'Winnetou, I,' penned by a German whose name I can't recall. It was a book given to simplicities. Still, I walked out in the forest and read it enough times to know it by heart. It was about Apaches and gunfighters, a volume for boys. Finally I was given a different volume, 'The Lady of Cachtice,' which I loved--it was cracked and torn with so much use."
"I stood there in the silence and it seemed to me that the spring of my life had come. I was a poet. I had written things down."
"She was a new sort of Czechoslovakian woman, taken out of the margins to illustrate our steps forward under socialism. She was telling the story unlike anyone had told it before. Zoli was invited to the Ministry of Culture, the National Theater, the Carlton, the Socialist Academy, screenings in the Stalingrad Hotel, conferences on literature where Stransky stood up and bellowed her name into the microphone. She spoke five languages with varying degrees of fluency, and Stransky had begun to call her a Gypsy intellectual. A shadow crossed her face, but she didn't silence him, something in her liked the novelty."
"They drove our wagons onto the ice
And ringed the white lake with fires,
So when the ice began to crack
The cheers went up from the Hlinkas,
We forced our horses forward
But they skidded, bloody, to the shore.
My land, we are your children,
Shore up the ice and make it freeze!
....
The snow fell large and white
And buried our wheels center deep"