We are finally living in Plato's cave, if we consider how those who were imprisoned within the cave - who could do nothing but watch those shadows passing on the back wall - were convinced that those shadows were their one and only reality. I see a profound similarity to all this in the epoch we're now living in. We no longer live simply through images: we live through images that don't even exist, which are the result not of physical projection but of pure virtuality.
just like everything else in life, let time take its course and it will find a solution.
Human vocabulary is still not capable, and probably never will be, of knowing, recognizing, and communicating everything that can be humanly experienced and felt.
... that's how life should be, when one person loses heart, the other must have heart and courage enough for both.
It is economic power that determines political power, and governments become the political functionaries of economic power.
The only time we can talk about death is while we're alive, not afterwards.
Dignity has no price ... when someone starts making small concessions, in the end life loses all meaning.
In matters of feeling and of the heart, too much is always better than too little.
When we are born, when we enter this world, it is as if we signed a pact for the rest of our life, but a day may come when we will ask ourselves Who signed this on my behalf?
Today's bread does not eliminate yesterday's hunger, much less that of tomorrow.
We know that happiness is short-lived, that we fail to cherish it when it is within our grasp and value it only when it has vanished forever.
Why did we become blind, I don't know, perhaps one day we'll find out, Do you want me to tell you what I think, Yes, do, I don't think we did go blind, I think we are blind, Blind but seeing, Blind people who can see, but do not see.
Even death, faced with the option of death or life, she would choose life.
As so often happens, the thing left undone tires you most of all, you only feel rested when it has been accomplished.
...sometimes we ask ourselves why happiness took so long to arrive, why it didn't come sooner, but appears suddenly, as now, when we've given up hope of it ever arriving, it's likely then that we won't know what to do, and rather than it being a question of choosing between laughter and tears, we will be filled by a secret anxiety to which we might not know how to respond at all.
A woman is essentially a vessel made to be filled.
Perhaps only in a world of the blind will things be what they truly are.
The wisest man I ever knew in my whole life could not read or write. At four o'clock in the morning, when the promise of a new day still lingered over French lands, he got up from his pallet and left for the fields, taking to pasture the half-dozen pigs whose fertility nourished him and his wife.
But truths need to be repeated many times so that they don't, poor things, lapse into oblivion.
Human nature is, by definition, a talkative one, imprudent, indiscreet, gossipy, incapable of closing its mouth and keeping it closed.
It is strange how the elderly fall silent when they ought to go on speaking, obliging the young to learn everything from scratch.
Reading is probably another way of being in a place.
...you have to leave the island in order to see the island, that we can't see ourselves unless we become free of ourselves, Unless we escape from ourselves you mean, No, that's not the same thing.
Writer's make national literature, while translators make universal literature.
Death is the inventor of God.
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