Age of Iron
This letter is not a baring of my heart. It is a baring of something, but not of my heart. (1.64)
Three years ago I had a burglary (you may remember, I wrote about it). (1.144)
"These are private papers, private letters. They are my daughter's inheritance. They are all I can give her, all she will accept, coming from this country. I don't want them opened and read by anyone else."
Private papers. These papers, these words that either you read now or else will never read. Will they reach you? Have they reached you? Two ways of asking the same question, a question to which I will never know the answer, never. To me this letter will forever be words committed to the waves: a message in a bottle with the stamps of the Republic of South Africa on it, and your name. (1.167-168)