Books Are Solitudes In Which

Revolution Is A Phase, A Mood, Like Spring, And Just As Spring Has Its Buds And Showers, So Revolution Has Its Ebullience, Its Bravery, Its Hope, And Its Solidarity. Some Of These Things Pass.

How Will You Go About Finding That Thing The Nature Of Which Is Totally Unknown To You?

It Had Come To Me Not In A Sudden Epiphany But With A Gradual Sureness, A Sense Of Meaning Like A Sense Of Place. When You Give Yourself To Places, They Give You Yourself Back; The More One Comes To Know Them, The More One Seeds Them With The Invisible Crop Of Memories And Associations That Will Be Waiting For You When You Come Back, While New Places Offer Up New Thoughts, New Possibilities. Exploring The World Is One Of The Best Ways Of Exploring The Mind, And Walking Travels Both Terrains.

A Book Is A Heart That Only Beats In The Chest Of Another.

Eduardo Galeano Notes That America Was Conquered, But Not Discovered, That The Men Who Arrived With A Religion To Impose And Dreams Of Gold Never Really Knew Where They Were, And That This Discovery Is Still Taking Place In Our Time.