Warriors surround my prison. Again and again I think upon this singular irony. I, the man without memory, occupy the place of the Lord of Memory. I, the stranger arrived from the sea, am the founder. I, naked and dispossessed, am the young chieftain. I, the last of men, am the first.
Now my mirror will kill me. My fate will be to watch myself grow old and immobile in this fleeting reflection.
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
Terra Nostra - pg. 402
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment