For a few days now, I have been thinking about the following sentences:
‘I do not believe that the real life of this nation is to be found either in great luxury hotels and the petty gossip of so-called fashionable suburbs, or in the officialdom of the organised masses. It is to be found in the homes of people who are nameless and unadvertised, and who, whatever their individual religious conviction, see in their children their greatest contribution to the immortality of their race.’
Were they written yesterday, for tomorrow?
No.
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