"I know you accuse me of arrogance, and perhaps of misanthropy, or madness. These charges (which will punish in due time) are ridiculous. It 's true that I leave the house, but it is also true that the doors (whose number is infinite) are open day and night to men and animals. Who wants to enter. You will not find here womanly luxuries nor the splendid pomp of palaces, but the quiet and solitude. [...] The truth is that they are unique. I do not care what a man can be transmitted to other men as the philosopher, I think that nothing can be communicated through the art of writing. "- Borges," The Aleph "
Sometimes "things" let us breathless.
Sometimes the decisions are not rational, but thrown in there for a moment. Without bothering to think.
Chestnuts you know, are "things" conservative. They're very careful what they do, with whom they talk and especially when jumping from the tree. The chestnut has done little in his life, but everything that has lived has collected and kept for himself, he tried to accumulate "things" into her small suitcase. And 'well known, however that is full of dust. The chestnut then inserts these "things" inside the suitcase and paf, it becomes all the dust. Some say that this dust is magical. Some say that lurk inside instead mites bad that when he opens the chestnut, come out to them the raspberries and try to bite.
The chestnut is solitary, surly and easily offended (when the mites attack, of course).
short, he has a bad temper. Sometimes you do not understand, nor be surprised if others do not understand: you or are out of their gourd. That's it.
chestnuts too, have duties, since their not-very short-lived attempt to take things as seriously. Why is it that you undertake to do the tests and when they realize that you are very busy and will not make you break down a lot. For this reason they feel the need to live, buy a ticket, which is much more than an hour's concert, is as a journey to distant worlds and collect every now and then a shell, the most beautiful, and bring it with him in his suitcase full of dust.
"if a story would be set on a long beach promenade. A beach with no beginning and no end. The story of a man walking along the shore and may never meet anyone. His gaze lingers from time to time to observe some object or fragment taken from the sea, the footprints of a crab, a lone seagull. The landscape is always the sand, the sky, some clouds, the sea. Cambian only the waves, always the same and always different, more smaller, larger, shorter, longer. " - Ludovico Einaudi-Waves.
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