Tuesday, January 8, 2019 at 11:09AM
Drew Wolfe

José Saramago

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

Words were not given to man in order to conceal his thoughts.

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.

Chaos is merely order waiting to be deciphered.

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

We use words to understand each other and even, sometimes, to find each other.

Forgive me if what has seemed little to you, to me is all.

Words that come from the heart are never spoken, they get caught in the throat and can only be read in ones's eyes.

Reading is probably another way of being in a place.

Article originally appeared on WorldWideWolfe II (http://drewhwolfe.com/).
See website for complete article licensing information.