At times I feel as if I had lived all this before and that I have already written these very words, but I know it was not I: it was another man, who kept his notebooks so that one day I could use them. I write, he wrote, that memory is fragile and the space of a single life is brief, passing so quickly that we never get a chance to see the relationship between events; we cannot gauge the consequences of our acts, and we believe in the fiction of past, present, and future, but it may also be true that everything happens simultaneously. That's why I write in my notebooks, in order to see things in their true dimension and to defy my own poor memory.
