Some drivers have already got out of their cars, prepared to push the stranded vehicle to a spot where it will not hold up the traffic, they beat furiously on the closed windows, the man inside turns his head in their direction, first to one side then to the other, he is clearly shouting something, to judge by the movements of his mouth he appears to be repeating some words, no one word but three, as turns out to be the case when someone finally manages to open the door, I am blind.

As so often happens, the thing left undone tires you most of all, you only feel rested when it has been accomplished.

. . . if there is a way for the world to be transformed for the better, it can only be done by pessimism; optimists will never change the world for the better.

The sun appears in one of the upper corners of the rectangle, on the left of anyone looking at the picture.

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.

This must be what it means to be a ghost, being certain that life exists, because your four senses say so, and yet unable to see it.

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.