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bibliocyclist 's review for:
The Joke
by Milan Kundera
A value debased and an illusion unmasked have the same pitiful shell.
Optimism is the opium of the people.
And suddenly I'd been released; Lucie had come to take me off to her gray paradise, and the step that until such a short time before had seemed unthinkable, the step enabling me to "make my exit from history," was suddenly a cause for relief and rejoicing. Lucie held me shyly by the arm, and I let myself be led.
For me the summer was radiant (the trees were covered with soot, but they seemed a rich, deep green when I gazed on them with my coal-mine eyes); yet as is so often the case, joy concealed the germ of sadness: the sad events of autumn were conceived in green-black summer.
Optimism is the opium of the people.
And suddenly I'd been released; Lucie had come to take me off to her gray paradise, and the step that until such a short time before had seemed unthinkable, the step enabling me to "make my exit from history," was suddenly a cause for relief and rejoicing. Lucie held me shyly by the arm, and I let myself be led.
For me the summer was radiant (the trees were covered with soot, but they seemed a rich, deep green when I gazed on them with my coal-mine eyes); yet as is so often the case, joy concealed the germ of sadness: the sad events of autumn were conceived in green-black summer.