Perhaps It Is The Language That Chooses

Because Each Of You Has His Or Her Own Death, You Carry It With You In A Secret Place From The Moment You're Born, It Belongs To You And You Belong To It.

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.

Age Carries With It A Double Load Of Guilt.

The Time For Miracles Has Either Passed Or Not Come Yet, Besides, Miracles, Genuine Miracles, Whatever People Say, Are Not Such A Good Idea, If It Means Destroying The Very Order Of Things In Order To Improve Them.

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?