The More Enlightened Our Houses Are, The

They Knew Each Other. He Knew Her And So Himself, For In Truth He Had Never Known Himself. And She Knew Him And So Herself, For Although She Had Always Known Herself She Had Never Been Able To Recognize It Until Now.

Who Are We, Who Is Each One Of Us, If Not A Combination Of Experiences, Information, Books We Have Read, Things Imagined? Each Life Is An Encyclopedia, A Library, An Inventory Of Objects, A Series Of Styles, And Everything Can Be Constantly Shuffled And Reordered In Every Way Conceivable.

The More One Was Lost In Unfamiliar Quarters Of Distant Cities, The More One Understood The Other Cities He Had Crossed To Arrive There.

Memory Really Matters...only If It Binds Together The Imprint Of The Past And The Project Of The Future, If It Enables Us To Act Without Forgetting What We Wanted To Do, To Become Without Ceasing To Be, And To Be Without Ceasing To Become.

The Universe Is The Mirror In Which We Can Contemplate Only What We Have Learned To Know In Ourselves