a year of two after emigrating, she happened to be in paris on the anniversary of the russian invasion of her country. a protest march had been scheduled, and she felt driven to take part. fists raised high, the young frenchmen shouted out slogans condemning soviet imperialism. she liked the slogans but to her surprise she found herself unable to shout along with them. she lasted no more than a few minutes in the parade.
when she told her french friends about it, they were amazed. 'you mean you don't want to fight the occupation of your own country?' she would have liked to tell them that behind communism, fascism, behind all the occupations and invasions lurks a more basic, pervasive evil and that the image of that evil was a parade of people marching by with raised fists and shouting identical syllables in unison. but she knew she would never be able to make them understand. embarrassed, she changed the subject.
...
these are questions that had been going through tereza's head since she was a child. indeed, the only truly serious questions are the ones that even a child can formulate. only the most naive of questions are truly serious. they are the questions with no answers. a question with no answer is a barrier that cannot be breached. in other words, it is questions with no answers that set the limits of human possibilities, describe the boundaries of human existence.
--Milan Kundera
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