How can we manage to illuminate the pathos of our lives?

Thus my life is a flight and I lose everything and everything belongs to oblivion, or to him.

The machinery of the world is far too complex for the simplicity of men.

I think it's all to the good that a writer shouldn't be too famous. Because, in a country where a writer may be famous, he may be pandering to the mob, celebrity and so on.

Reality is not always probable, or likely.

To think, analyze and invent, he [Pierre Menard] also wrote me, “are not anomalous acts, but the normal respiration of the intelligence. To glorify the occasional fulfillment of this function, to treasure ancient thoughts of others, to remember with incredulous amazement that the doctor universal is thought, is to confess our languor or barbarism. Every man should be capable of all ideas, and I believe that in the future he will be." (Jorge Luis Borges, "Pierre Menard, Author of Don Quixote, 1939)

We are our memory, we are that chimerical museum of shifting shapes, that pile of broken mirrors.