by Brazil
ian writer José de Alencar
. It was initially published under feuilleton
form at the journal
Diário do Rio de Janeiro, in 1856
.
The book is written in the form of a letter, addressed to "D.", the narrator's cousin. It tells the story of the aforementioned narrator's love by a woman named Carlota, whose name is only given in the final chapters of the book.
The story begins in Rio de Janeiro City
.
I am fifty-two years of age. I am a bishop in the Anglican Church, and a few people might be constrained to say that I was reasonably responsible. In the land of my birth I cannot vote, whereas a young person of eighteen can vote. And why? Because he or she possesses that wonderful biological attribute — a white skin.
Be nice to the whites, they need you to rediscover their humanity.
I am a leader by default, only because nature does not allow a vacuum.
For goodness sake, will they hear, will white people hear what we are trying to say? Please, all we are asking you to do is to recognize that we are humans, too.
When a pile of cups is tottering on the edge of the table and you warn that they will crash to the ground, in South Africa you are blamed when that happens.
I am not interested in picking up crumbs of compassion thrown from the table of someone who considers himself my master. I want the full menu of rights.
Those who invest in South Africa should not think they are doing us a favor; they are here for what they get out of our cheap and abundant labor, and they should know that they are buttressing one of the most vicious systems.
A person is a person because he recognizes others as persons.
You don’t choose your family. They are God’s gift to you, as you are to them.
God has such a deep reverence for our freedom that he'd rather let us freely go to Hell than be compelled to go to Heaven.