Book: In the belly of the whale

...in fact, all the explanations are always insufficient...

...in fact, all the explanations are always insufficient...

We have a short memory: people want to return to youth only when it has already passed. Because really, it's a terrible time, and all say they were very happy, although in reality was extremely unhappy.

...a man always wants what he does not. Especially if it used to be. ...when a person gets their wish, it's not the same. It's like a light has been extinguished cigarette: like cigarette the same, and the taste is not the same.

The reality is speechless, but not matches: may be coincidence and there is the form that accepts the reality, when he wants to be eloquent when she needed us to disclose anything; the bad thing is that we never know what she has to say.

It seems to me that a man is never given until the end find out yourself. The reason for this is probably not too complicated. We believe that we are only one person, but we are many: at least in the us continue to exist all those who we were before. The past lives in the present; rather, only a pretext, even the most insignificant or trivial that it bloomed again: that we again become what we were.

...long life together of two people, among other things, creates a kind of imperceptible, but powerful dependence on each other.

...there are people who do not know how to be angry. The anger of these people is much scarier than the wrath of the choleric: choleric angry because that is their nature; and these people get mad because at some moment and for some reason decides that it is their duty. Hot-headed, aware of itself as such, is committed to control your anger; with the meek man opposite occurs: it is also aware of its gentleness, it strives to enhance and exaggerate your anger. The choleric fury exhausted itself: its only purpose is to deliver relief; the fury of the same gentleman, on the contrary, is always directed outwards, its purpose - to destroy instigated the cause.

The world is no scarier beast than a dissatisfied woman, to put it delicately. I assure you, I know all about it. About women, I mean. And to tell you the truth: there are very few truly satisfied women. First, because you guys obviously can not cope with this work: you no longer need to talk about it, brag to friends, and really not enough time. And secondly, because, sweetheart, that is terrible, that our time passes.

...as terrible as was our life, she can always emerge a lot worse.

The world is a much smaller event than we think.

...we often tend to confuse love with the impossibility of loneliness...

...last dig only with a secret intention to change it.

Marcelo says that there is neither past nor future, that the past is only a memory and the future is a vague assumption. Maybe it is, but it may also be that even now devoid of its own objective essence, and not only because it is so elusive and ephemeral like so-subtle matter that, like happiness, is only to call him by his name, and it will disappear (quite the person to call by name now, and it immediately turns into the past, just as no one can say that they are happy and remain happy, for the first condition of happiness is the lack of awareness of happiness); and also because the present exists to the extent in which we perceive it, i.e. in the extent that people invent it. Therefore, to live means at every step to create, invent life, to tell her himself. So reality is nothing more than someones story and if the narrator disappears, then reality will disappear together with him. The whole world depends on this narrator. Reality exists insofar as someone describes. We constantly come up with the present and especially past.