On the second day of July in the year 1863 the Civil War in America was at its height. Late in the preceding month Lee had turned his face northward, and, with an army of a hundred thou-sand Confederate soldiers at his back, had marched up into Penn-sylvania. There was little to hinder his advance. Refraining, by reason of strict orders, from wanton destruction of property, his soldiers nevertheless lived on the rich country through which they passed. York and Carlisle were in their grasp. Harrisburg was but a day’s march away, and now, on this second day of July, flushed with fresh victories, they had turned and were giving desperate battle, through the streets and on the hills of Gettysburg, to the Union armies that had followed them. The old commonwealth was stirred as she had not been stirred before since the fall of Sumter. Every town and village in the state responded quickly to the governor’s call for emergency troops to defend the capital city. Mount Hermon, already depleted by gen-erous early enlistments, and by the draft of 1862, gathered to-gether the bulk of the able-bodied men left in the village and its surroundings, and sent them forth in defense of the common-wealth. Not that Mount Hermon was in especial danger from Lee’s invasion, far from it. Up in the northeastern corner of the state, on a plateau of one of the low foot-hills of the Moosic range, sheltered by the mountains at its back, it was well protected, both by reason of distance and location, from the advancing foe. But Mount Hermon was intensely patriotic. In the days preceding the Revolution the sturdy pioneers from Connecticut had met the equally sturdy settlers from the domain of Penn, and on this plateau they had fought out their contentions and settled their differences; the son of the Pennamite had married the daughter of the Yankee; and the new race, with love of country tingeing every drop of its blood a deeper red, had stayed on and possessed the land. So, on this July day, when the armies of North and South were striving and struggling with each other in bloody combat back and forth across the plain and up the hills of Gettysburg, Mount Hermon’s heart beat fast. But it was not for themselves that these people were anxious. It was for the fathers, husbands, sons, lovers in that army with which Meade, untried and unproven, was endeavoring to match the strategy and strength of Lee. News of the first day’s skirmishing had reached the village, and it was felt that a great battle was imminent. In the early evening, while the women were still busy at their household tasks, the men gathered at the post-office and the stores, eager for late news, anxious to discuss the situation as they had learned it. In the meantime the boys of the town had congregated on the village green to resume the military drills which, with more or less frequency, they had carried on during the summer. These drills were not wholly without serious intent. It was play, indeed; but, out of the ranks of these boys, three of the older ones had already gone to the front to fight real battles; and it was felt, by the men of the town, that the boys could not be too thoroughly imbued with the military spirit. So, on this July evening, wakened into new ardor by the news from Gettysburg, they had gathered to resume their nightly work—and play.There were thirty-three of them, ranging in years all the way from eight to eighteen. They were eager and enthusiastic. At the command to fall in there was much pushing and jostling, much striving for desirable places, and even the young captain, with great show of authority, could not quite adjust all differences to the complete satisfaction of his men.Before the confusion had wholly ceased, and while there were still awkward gaps in the ranks, a tall, straight, shy-mannered boy of seventeen, who had remained hitherto on the outskirts of the group, quietly slipped into one of the vacant places.

Adrian Punescu scrie proz cu degetele arse de miracolul poeziei, i de aici succesul tulburtor, care, n loc s mntuie, nspimnt, oblig i rtcete. Poet al fluenelor de liliac n grle de piatr rar, al brumelor de bronz, al cderii n rnile dorului i n hohote de chihlimbar, grav despicat de neiertare i de rzvrtire, Adrian Punescu intr n hotarele prozei prin vijelia reportajului. (...) Puin i pas dac lumea l aplaud sau l njur, el vrea s rstoarne i s cldeasc, i n-are timp s cpieze stnd ntr-un picior, viaa e scurt i, dac nu vrea s se ndrepte prin cntec (i nu vrea), trebuie rezidit din mers i nvat s cnte. Reportajul lui Punescu e, nainte de toate, unul de atitudine, adevrul sare din pagin ca miezul dintr-o ceap zdrobit cu pumnul (...), fulgerul, aparent liric i aparent hrnit de curcubeie, e un arc al ndoielii, un crlig veninos umblnd prin crpturile pmntului, strigtul doare, suspinul are ghimpi n cretet, gerul frige, apsarea nghea.Durabila for a reporterului Adrian Punescu vine de acolo c el n-are chef, n nici o pagin, s fie ru de but n apte linguri, ci numai fluviu azvrlindu-se n mare, cu toate aluviunile i rzboaiele sufletului.“

gata! Mito? Micleu?anu (n. 1972), pictor, scriitor, muzician. Cofondator al proiectului ?Planeta Moldova“.

Sonetul contondentCelor doi / poe?i de mare soi...(Istrate ?i Murgeanu)Visam c? Marea-?i p?r?sea ghioculCu-al s?u tumult de valuri euxine?i, h?t-departe-n zonele alpine,Ca-n Cretaceu, ??i reg?sise locul...Priveam de-acuma fascinat la joculDe valuri ?n?esate de jivineDin vremuri disp?rute, care-n fine,??i ?ncercau, o dat?-n plus, norocul.Sim?eam o dulce binecuv?ntareC?-n groapa euxinic? ad?nc?O Mare Neagr? nu exist? ?nc?,Nici Casa Scriitorilor la mare;Nici doi poe?i cu barb?, bur?i ?i plete,S?-n?ire contondentele sonete.

La ora la care scriu aceste r?nduri, revista Contemporanul se apropie de aniversarea a 130 de ani de la fondare, si ne ?ntreb?m, cu to?ii, iar??i ?i iar??i, ce schimb?ri s-au produs ?n peisajul cultural, literar, social ?n ultimii 20 de ani? Ce viitor vor avea cultura, literatura rom?n? vie ?n contextul acestor schimb?ri? Cum ??i va reveni din criza actuala, mai grav?, mai dramatic? dec?t criza economic? propriu-zisa fiind, f?r? ?ndoiala, profunda criz? moral? de care este cuprins? societatea rom?neasc?? R?spunsurile formulate de participan?ii la anchet? – precum ?i celelalte articole, eseuri, reportaje etc. – cuprinse ?n acest supliment aniversar vizeaz? ?i aceste aspecte, greu de neglijat, din v?rtejul evenimentelor istorice, din acest dramatic prezent, rezist?nd, spre gloria na?iunii rom?ne, Excelen?a Sa, cultura, literatur? rom?n? vie. (Aura Christi)

ONE of the best things to be said of the stories in this volume is that, although they are not biographical, they are about real persons who actually lived and performed their parts in the great drama of the world's history. Some of these persons were more famous than others, yet all have left enduring "footprints on the sands of time" and their names will not cease to be remembered. ??In each of the stories there is a basis of truth and an ethical lesson which cannot fail to have a wholesome influence; and each possesses elements of interest which, it is believed, will go far towards proving the fallibility of the doctrine that children find delight only in tales of the imaginative and unreal. The fact that there are a few more than fifty famous people mentioned in the volume may be credited to the author's wish to give good measure.??SAVING THE BIRDS?ONE day in spring four men were riding on horseback along a country road. These men were lawyers, and they were going to the next town to attend court.?There had been a rain, and the ground was very soft. Water was dripping from the trees, and the grass was wet.?The four lawyers rode along, one behind another; for the pathway was narrow, and the mud on each side of it was deep. They rode slowly, and talked and laughed and were very jolly.?As they were passing through a grove of small trees, they heard a great fluttering over their heads and a feeble chirping in the grass by the roadside.? "Stith! stith! stith!" came from the leafy branches above them.?"Cheep! cheep! cheep!" came from the wet grass.?"What is the matter here?" asked the first lawyer, whose name was Speed.?"Oh, it's only some old robins!" said the second lawyer, whose name was Hardin. "The storm has blown two of the little ones out of the nest. They are too young to fly, and the mother bird is making a great fuss about it."?"What a pity! They'll die down there in the grass," said the third lawyer, whose name I forget.?"Oh, well! They're nothing but birds," said Mr. Hardin. "Why should we bother?"? "Yes, why should we?" said Mr. Speed.?The three men, as they passed, looked down and saw the little birds fluttering in the cold, wet grass. They saw the mother robin flying about, and crying to her mate.?Then they rode on, talking and laughing as before. In a few minutes they had forgotten about the birds.?But the fourth lawyer, whose name was Abraham Lincoln, stopped. He got down from his horse and very gently took the little ones up in his big warm hands.

Ar fi prea simplu s? dai fr?u liberlacrimilor pe coala alba, virginal? –ci tu te ?nc?p???nezi s? la?i un semn deslu?itdespre aleanul din sufletu-?i oprimat – ?ncercis? ?ntinzi pe h?rtie materia stelar? a unei pic?turialbastre; o ?mpingi ?ncolo ?i ?ncoace, caligrafiezi litere,le ?ns?ilezi ?n cuvinte ne?nc?p?toare – ?i e de parc??n interiorul pic?turii de cerneal?s-ar afla un ce viu ?i neostoit, care se zbates? r?zbeasc? ?ntr-o parte sau alta, afar? dincaptivitatea pungii elastice – un spirit vital, care?mpunge orbe?te, nereu?ind s? evadeze, blestemats? se chinuiasc? acolo,ve?nic...

...A ine jurnal, a nu fi singur sub canonad. A duce n crc trupul cu multe rni al unui camarad, toate sngernde... El mai tria n momentul cnd l-ai aburcat n spate, dar nu mai prea n simiri. naintezi prin viscolul de gloane i schije, dintre care unele adorm scurt n carnea lui dens. Cel puin aa crezi, cel puin aa ndjduieti – c loviturile nu s-au oprit n tine. Dar poi fi sigur Prin canonad nainte, sau cine mai tie ncotro, snge a curs i se mai prelinge nc din trupul prietenului, sau i dintr-al tu Greutatea lui te deznoad, i simi cldura... Mai triete oare ntrebarea nu are nevoie de rspuns, oricum n-ai s te debarasezi de strvul lui: te-a aprat i o s te mai apere de lovitura mortal. (El, camaradul, el, jurnalul.) i de vzut cine dintre noi mai supravieuiete, vom vedea la urm, i spui.“ – Ion Lazu

Titlul se refer? la ceea ce autorul c?r?ii consider? esen?a mitului faustic: surmontarea limitelor cunoa?terii ?i tenta?ia spre ceea ce exist? dincolo, necunoscutul sau imposibilul ?n ordinea normal? a lumii. Tenta?ia limitei ?i limita tenta?iei este o investigare critic? a ideilor ?i motivelor din perspectiva unui comparatism orientat spre filosofie ?i estetic?, pe care profesorul universitar clujean, Vasile Voia, l-a practicat consecvent ?n cariera sa.

Nu cred c trebuie s interpretm altfel referirile lui Clinescu la vechimea poporului romn dect ca o proiecie mitic a unor date istorice i, mai ales, a unor intuiii i ambiii personale. Dar chiar i aa, aceste idei meritau s fie formulate i ncarnate n imagini, aceste pagini meritau s fie scrise, fie i numai pentru clipele de reverie istoric i de mobilizare afectiv pe care ni le produc, pentru ficiunile verosimile pe care ni le propun cu atta trie i n care suntem liberi s credem cu propria noastr trie ca ntr-un alt posibil destin.“ – Mircea Martin

Vrnd s fac un dar poeilor romni – de la care n tineree am primit inestimabile daruri, Nichita, Cezar, Grigore – am ndrznit o versiune romneasc a intraductibilelor i abstruselor poeme rilkeene. Mostre supreme ale unui discurs poetic somnambulic, desfidnd nu numai logica i sintaxa curent dar i cea poetic, aceste Elegii… sunt, cred eu, un vrf dac nu un monument al spiritualitii moderne europene. Sunt fericit ca limba romn a strmoilor mei i a marilor poei romni a primit i a putut cuprinde arta poetului austriac, ce se clatin i cuvnt ntr-un aer de o tensiune insuportabil, ntre Pindar i Holderlin, un monument de vrf inegalabil, cu siguran, al creaiei europene.“ (Nicolae Breban)

Dou? spa?ii literare: cel rom?nesc ?i cel spaniol. Dou? planuri de abordare: teoretic ?i hermeneutic.Acela?i element de referin??: metafic?iunea. Un studiu semnat de Anamaria Blanaru care vizeaz? o cercetare complex? a metafic?iunii, o privire critic? asupra polemicilor ?n care a fost abordat acest subiect.?

Un caleidoscop ?n care se rotesc ?ncet imagini din copil?ria cu mineri, decantoare ?i benzi care transport? c?rbunele sau din adolescen?a ?ntr-o uniform? albastr?. Textele astea spun, ?n fond, pove?ti despre oameni dragi. (Ana Pu?ca?u)Ce-?i r?m?ne de f?cut atunci c?nd e?ti num?rat ?dup? gloan?e“, c?nd ajungi s? asociezi cele mai bune vremuri cu ?primele defil?ri“, prin fa?a ochilor ?i se deruleaz? ?toate marile filme ale indiferen?ei“, iar ?n loc de cer nu mai reu?e?ti s? vezi dec?t ?sute/de mii de c?m??i albastre cu epole?i“? Nu-?i r?m?ne altceva dec?t s? ratezi ?tot ce se putea rata“, asta e lec?ia pe care o ?nva?? at?t de bine ?i o pred?, iat?, mai departe, f?r? gre?eal?, fosta elev? a L(iceului) M(ilitar). De?i pare imprimat pe o band? magnetic?, iar limbajul este ?n esen?? unul sever, discursul ?pedagogic“ din te a?tept ca pe un glonte las? s? se strecoare printre r?nduri suficient din emo?iile, respira?iile sau ezit?rile instan?ei emitente, astfel ?nc?t abilitatea celei aflate la pupitru s? devin? de necontestat. Pentru c?, da, Ana Pu?ca?u convinge f?r? probleme, indiferent dac? scrie despre identit??i furate, manevre sterile, r?zboi, iubire sau ratare. (Cristina Ispas)Un spa?iu disciplinar, depresiv, amenin?at de gloan?e, p?ndit de moarte – o zon? biografic? marcat? de absolvirea LM-ului. Prezen?a semnificativ? a conjunctivelor ?i condi?ional-optativelor m? face s? cred c? totul ar putea fi ?ntocmai, iar rezultatul, exact cel b?nuit, c? oricine poate juca rolul principal propus de Ana Pu?ca?u. Concrete?ea spa?iilor nu se dezminte nici un moment, poeta r?m?n?nd fidel? geografiei ?i istoriei imediate, realiz?nd astfel un sumbru decor al lumii la ?nceput de mileniu; cu fabrici dezafectate, baruri, camioane ?i, de ce nu, cu Bosnia sau Basarabia. Teama care str?bate volumul, ca o ven? sub?ire, tr?deaz? fragilitatea de care literatura ultimelor decenii are at?ta nevoie. Debutul poetic al Anei Pu?ca?u este – probabil – cel mai a?teptat (?i mai reu?it) din zona Timi?oarei, ?n ultima vreme. (Moni St?nil?)

Biografia sugereaz?, ?n chip aproape inevitabil, prin relatarea cronologic? a faptelor vie?ii acelui individ, ?ncep?nd de la na?tere ?i continu?nd cu experien?ele tr?ite pe parcursul anilor, c? evenimentele respective au avut o importan?? mai larg?, mai cuprinz?toare dec?t cele ale unui om oarecare, c? au contribuit, ?ntr-un fel sau altul, la scrierea istoriei acelor vremuri. ?n cazul lui Napoleon Bonaparte, merit? s? ne aplec?m ?i asupra mitologiei, ad?ug?nd-o impresiei generale, create de-a lungul deceniilor de nenum?ra?i istorici ?i biografi, conform c?reia ceea ce a contat ?n principal a fost omul ?nsu?i, viziunile ?i ambi?iile sale, ?i nu vremurile ?n care a tr?it ori circumstan?ele ?nt?lnite ?n cale. Pu?ine personaje istorice s-au bucurat de at?ta notorietate ?i de at?tea scrieri dedicate ?i pu?ine au fost descrise ?ntr-o manier? at?t de subiectiv?, prezent?nd ?ntrega istorie a epocii de parc? ar fi fost o reflectare a voin?ei ?i a dorin?ei de putere ?i de glorie a unui singur om. Din acest motiv poate c? ar fi mai ?n?elept ca, ?nainte de orice, s? ne oprim un pic ?i s? ?ncepem aceast? carte cu un soi de avertisment.

Al Doilea R?zboi Mondial nu va ajunge niciodat? s?-?i dezv?luie ?ntreaga groz?vie. ?n spatele faptelor de arme, al atrocit??ilor ?i al crimelor monstruoase comise ?mpotriva civililor se ascunde o alt? realitate. Aceea a miilor de femei sovietice trimise pe front ?mpotriva inamicului nazist. Svetlana Aleksievici ?i-a dedicat ?apte ani din via?? colect?rii m?rturiilor unor femei care, multe dintre ele, la momentul acela erau abia ie?ite din copil?rie. Dup? primele sentimente de euforie, asist?m la o schimbare radical? de ton, pe m?sur? ce ajungem la ?ncercarea fatal? a luptei, ?nso?it? de partea sa de ?ntreb?ri ?i de suferin??. Abandon?nd t?cerea ?n care ?i-au g?sit refugiul, aceste femei ?ndr?znesc, ?n sf?r?it, s? prezinte r?zboiul a?a cum l-au tr?it. ?Svetlana Aleksievici este unul dintre cei mai valoro?i scriitori ai vremurilor noastre. Proza ei nu este feminin?, ci aspr? precum r?zboiul […], dar, prin expresivitatea ei, devine artistic?, palpabil?, profund emo?ionant?.” – Vladimir Voinovici

T?bb mint egy év tel el azóta, hogy hazaértem. Akik kívülr?l néznek, aligha észlelnek kül?n?sebb változást. De nekem már csak k?d?sen rémlik egy n?, aki egykor én voltam, aki mindig felhúzva tartotta a vállát a feszültségt?l, mert másoknak akart megfelelni. Két hónappal hazatértem után eladtam elegáns, nagypolgári lakásomat, és bek?lt?ztem egy kisebbe, szerényebbe. Az autómat lecseréltem egy olcsóbb, alacsonyabb fogyasztásúra. Az addig igénybe vett szolgáltatások nagy részét lemondtam, megváltam a k?ltséges biztosítások t?bbségét?l, a giga-csomagoktól, az ilyen-olyan el?fizetésekt?l, és egy lényegesen egyszer?bb életvitelre rendezkedtem be. A ruháimat is kiválogattam, a felesleget elajándékoztam vagy áruba bocsátottam. Az maradt csak meg, és mindenb?l csak annyi, amire valóban szükségem van. Olykor gyertyával világítok, órákig bámulom, hogyan táncol a láng a s?tétben. Vagy ücs?rg?k a teraszon, és nézem az égboltot, amelynek addig ismeretlen szépségeit az ?ton fedeztem csak fel… Amíg ezt a boldogságot nem éltem át, elképzelni sem tudtam, hogy egyszer úgy fogom gondolni: ha mindenemet elveszíteném, akkor is maradna egy csomó dolog, ami boldoggá tesz. Látom a k?rnyezetemben él?ket, amint fáradtan hajszolnak valamit, amit már megnevezni sem tudok, annyira távolinak t?nik, hogy magam is így éltem. Nem tehetek t?bbet értük, mint hogy elmondom a magam t?rténetét, amely így kezd?dik: van esély! Csak a békességnek el?bb helyet kell készíteni, kell egy nagytakarítás. Amíg a beidegz?dések, el?ítéletek foglalják a helyet, addig a cs?nd nem ver tanyát odabent. Pedig ahhoz, hogy meghalljam a saját hangomat, cs?ndre volt szükség. Ilyen az életem a Camino után.

Nebunul indian este al treilea volum semnat de Ovidiu Raul Vasiliu ?i marcheaz? maturitatea liric? a t?n?rului poet ie?ean. Cartea con?ine peste 60 de poeme scrise ?n ultima perioad?, autorul exers?nd cu succes diverse registre stilistice ?i prozodice, ?n versuri ?sub a c?ror dexteritate formal? se ?ntrez?re?te ceea ce niciodat? nu poate fi exprimat p?n? la cap?t“ (Daniel Cristea-Enache).

Volumul Save Point e un prilej bun de ?mp?care intre cele 2 p?r?i vitale autorului, cea tehnologic? ?i cea literat?, un mediu analog ?n care se gasesc instantanee, deseori in format ludic, ale unor lumi ?n care au loc evenimente at?t de mici ?i at?t de subit ?nc?t s-ar putea spune despre ele c? aproape nu au avut loc vreodat?.

E textul pe baza cruia am fcut spectacolul Habemus bebe, n primvara lui 2014, mpreun cu soul meu, regizorul Robert Blan. Iniial nu-l voiam publicat, apoi m-am rzgndit, publicarea i d o via textului pe care scena nu i-o poate da (i invers cred c e la fel de valabil). Non Stress Test va fi un poem mai lung, pe o tem care nu a fost i nici nu este la mod: maternitatea. E nsoit i de un set de fotografii, sper s fie o carte mito. i de data asta m-am jucat cu limitele genului: o variant a textului a aprut deja n traducere (n bulgar i n maghiar) ca text de teatru”. (Elena Vldreanu)

Ha nem lennének angol kosztüm?s filmek és szürkéskék szemek, a világ is sokkal biztonságosabb hely volna. Legalábbis így vélekedik Mész?ly Dóra, a LEI magazin újságírója, amikor elhatározza, hogy interjút kér a híres angol színészt?l, Edward Yorke-tól. A feladat egyszer?nek t?nik, hiszen a férfi éppen Budapesten forgatja legújabb filmjét, ám a kezdeti biztató jelek után az ügy egyre bonyolultabbá válik… A lány váratlan akadályok sorával találja magát szemk?zt, ám az egyébként is makacs természet? Dóra nem ismer lehetetlent. Minden találékonyságát latba vetve üld?zi tovább a színészt, mik?zben kalandjai hol filmgyári díszletek k?zé, hol egy magánnyomozó irodájába, hol az éjszakai Budapest kocsmáiba, hol egy londoni szállodába sodorják. De vajon sikerül-e rátalálnia Edwardra? M?RK LEON?RA az Elle magazin f?szerkeszt?-helyettese, el?tte évekig a N?k Lapja munkatársaként dolgozott. H?sn?jével, Mész?ly Dórával szemben nem az interjú a kedvenc m?faja, de ha valaki igazán felkelti az érdekl?dését, ? sem adja fel k?nnyen… ?Vágyni, csodára várni, álmodozni: jó. Tudom, mit érezhetett a k?nyv szerz?je, amikor megszületett benne a vágy. Ismerem az érzést, ami a csoda k?zelében meglep, és az álmodozás sem áll távol t?lem. M?rk Leonóra nagyon pontosan és végtelenül ?nironikusan mutatja be a fázisokat. Egyszer én is évekig üld?ztem egy német punkénekest. Aztán, amikor elkaptam, a fülembe csengtek egy kedves versnek a sorai: ?Nem akarok elérni semmit. Nem akarom, hogy ne legyen mire vágynom.? Hogy a k?nyv újságíró f?szerepl?je mit érez a kalandok során, nem árulom el. Járjuk vele végig az utat. K?nnyen magával húz, élvezet k?vetni. A vége meg: maradjon csattanó.” Karafiáth Orsolya

Bipoláris érzelmi zavar – hangzik a kórházi pszichiáter diagnózisa… Gyógyíthatatlan mentális betegség. Péceli Rita megrémül: ezek szerint élete végéig ?bolond” marad? Rita kezdetben megpróbálja ott folytatni, ahol a diagnózis el?tt abbahagyta. ?m széls?séges érzelmi hullámzásai alatt rossz d?ntéseket hoz, rossz kapcsolatokat k?t, elveszíti szerelmét, és biztos állása, megélhetése is veszélybe kerül. Egy éven belül háromszor kell befeküdnie a pszichiátriára. Rita a sok szenvedés hatására végül úgy d?nt, felveszi a keszty?t, és szembenéz a betegséggel. Vajon siker koronázza-e az er?feszítéseit, és képes lesz-e együtt élni a betegséggel, ha megfogadja segít?i tanácsait? ?lhet-e majd ezután is teljes érték? életet? S ami talán a legfontosabb: megtalálja-e a boldogságot? A regény igaz t?rténet alapján íródott. ?– Talán én nem tettem meg mindent – vallottam be halkan. – ?s félek, nem is fogok tudni megtenni. Pedig nem akarok újra kórházba kerülni. – Látja, most megfogalmazta a célját – mosolygott a szem?ld?két felhúzva Kamilla. – Higgye el, sikerülni fog. Kételkedve sóhajtottam fel, de akkor és ott megmozdult bennem valami. Elt?kéltem: mindent meg fogok tenni, nehogy megint a pszichiátrián k?ssek ki. – Az els? lépés, hogy elfogadják magukat – folytatta a pszichológus. – ?gy, ahogy vannak. A betegségüket. Ne vádolják magukat érte, ne érezzék szégyenbélyegnek, ne tagadják el saját maguk el?l, ha baj van. Maguk ugyanolyan értékes emberek, mint bárki más.”