[b]Jose Saramago
News of the miracle had reached the doge’s palace, but in a somewhat garbled form. the result of the successive transmissions of facts, true or assumed, real or purely imaginary, based on everything from partial, more or less eyewitness accounts to reports from those who simply liked the sound of their own voice, for, as we know all too well, no one telling a story can resist adding a period, and sometimes even a comma.[/b]
Well, it was a miracle, right?
thoven was ugly too, and no woman ever loved him, and he was Beethoven! He didn’t need to be loved in order to do what he did. He just needed to love and he did.
of this actually true?
are so afraid of the idea of having to die, said the doctor’s wife, that we always try to find excuses, for the dead, as if we were asking beforehand to be excused when it is our turn.
whats the idea of having to die next to your actual death?
trary to what is generally believed, meaning and sense were never the same thing, meaning shows itself at once, direct, literal, explicit, enclosed in itself, univocal, if you like, while sense cannot stay still, it seethes with second, third and fourth senses, radiating out in different directions that divide and subdivide into branches and branchlets, until they disappear from view, the sense of every word is like a star hurling spring tides out into space, cosmic winds, magnetic perturbations, afflictions.
I know: Why is it always so goddamn complicated?!
This is the effect of panic, a natural effect, you could say that animal nature is like this, plant life would behave in exactly the same way, too, if it did not have all those roots to hold it in the ground, and how nice it would be to see the trees of the forest fleeing the flames.
So, parenthetically, are plants less alive than we are?
If we cannot live entirely like human beings, at least let us do everything in our power not to live entirely like animals.
Unless of course we are animals.