No post yesterday. But daily posts are hardly realistic for me.
But: for given reasons:
„Gabriel García Márquez once recalled a story that he did not publish. He dreamed of his own funeral, of course it was a wonderful celebration, all his friends had come, in mourning clothes, but in great spirits. »We all seemed happy to see each other again. And me especially.” Simply because he finally saw all his friends in life gathered together. Then the party was over, Gabo, drunk with happiness, was getting ready to accompany his friends into the night when one of them said with decisive severity: "You're the only one who can't go." Márquez adds: "It was only then that I understood , Dying means never being with your friends again." But he later threw the story in the trash because, as he writes, "I didn't manage to describe it as exuberantly as it had been in the dream."
From weekly paper „ die Zeit“
RiP Manfred.
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