Can you still fall in love? Can you still let your heartbeat break your brains? Are you ready to forget your history and dive into a precarious future? Can her hair let you forget your life delusions? And the rage that burns you after her refusal, is that really love or is it just your proud? Montalbano is 58, and he keeps asking this questions to himself. The detective is questioning himself. In the meanwhile life goes on like melting snow; only the cold remains, when everything is useless.
Andrea Camilleri - L'etá del dubbio
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