Sobre este sitio
Hice esta página para escribir mis ideas. Escribir es dejar un registro. Soy adicto a pensar, pero mis pensamientos no tienen lenguaje, son gotas de agua que llenan siempre el lugar en el que estoy y me entretengo nadando entre ellos.
Otros lugares
- Un lugar donde soy feliz:
Qualcosa
From the seventh solitude — One day the wanderer slammed a door behind himself, stopped in his tracks, and wept. Then he said: “This penchant and passion for what is true, real, non-apparent, certain —how it aggravates me! Why does this gloomy and restless fellow keep following and driving me? I want to rest, but he will not allow it. How much there is that seduces me to tarry! Everywhere Armida’s gardens beckon me; everywhere I must keep tearing my heart away and experience new bitternesses. I must raise my feet again and again, weary and wounded though they be; and because I must go on, I often look back in wrath at the most beautiful things that could not hold me—because they could not hold me.”
