Days and nights passed over this despair of flesh, but one morning he awoke, looked (with calm now) at the blurred things that lay about him, and felt, inexplicably, the way one might feel upon recognizing a melody or a voice, that all this had happened to him before and that he had faced it with fear but also with joy and hopefulness and curiosity. Then he descended into his memory, which seemed to him endless, and managed to draw up from that vertigo the lost remembrance that gleamed like a coin in the rain - perhaps because he had never really looked at it except (perhaps) in a dream.
Jorge Luis BorgesIt means much to have loved, to have been happy, to have laid my hand on the living Garden, even for a day.
Jorge Luis BorgesTranslations are a partial and precious documentation of the changes the text suffers.
Jorge Luis Borges