Time had gone, and my memory did not exist, and I was unable to distinguish between what I had invented and what I had known, and I knew that what I had invented was all false.
Doris Lessing in The Golden Notebook.



061 Roble

Y en medio del jardín el soberbio retoño que hará flocer... pero es el principio del otoño donde comienza el sueño y el crudo invierno.

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