Blindness

If I'm sincere today, what does it matter if I regret it tomorrow?

Inside us there is something that has no name, that something is what we are.

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.

The difficult thing isn't living with other people, it's understanding them.

Perhaps only in a world of the blind will things be what they truly are.

You never know beforehand what people are capable of, you have to wait, give it time, it's time that rules, time is our gambling partner on the other side of the table and it holds all the cards of the deck in its hand, we have to guess the winning cards of life, our lives.

Words are like that, they deceive, they pile up, it seems they do not know where to go, and, suddenly, because of two or three or four that suddenly come out, simple in themselves, a personal pronoun, an adverb, an adjective, we have the excitement of seeing them coming irresistibly to the surface through the skin and the eyes and upsetting the composure of our feelings, sometimes the nerves that can not bear it any longer, they put up with a great deal, they put up with everything, it was as if they were wearing armor, we might say.

If we cannot live entirely like human beings, at least let us do everything in our power not to live entirely like animals.

When all is said and done, what is clear is that all lives end before their time.

Se antes de cada acto nosso nos puséssemos a prever todas as consequências dele, a pensar nelas a sério, primeiro as imediatas, depois as prováveis, depois as possíveis, depois as imagináveis, não chegaríamos sequer a mover-nos de onde o primeiro pensamento nos tivesse feito parar.

If, before every action, we were to begin by weighing up the consequences, thinking about them in earnest, first the immediate consequences, then the probable, then the possible, then the imaginable ones, we should never move beyond the point where our first thought brought us to a halt. The good and evil resulting from our words and deeds go on apportioning themselves, one assumes in a reasonably uniform and balanced way, throughout all the days to follow, including those endless days, when we shall not be here to find out, to congratulate ourselves or ask for pardon, indeed there are those who claim that this is the much talked of immortality.

Just as the habit does not make the monk, the sceptre does not make the king.

blindness is a private matter between a person and the eyes with which he or she was born.

...the habit of falling hardens the body, reaching the ground, to in itself, is a relief.