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![José Saramago](https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/authors/1497455560i/1285555._UY200_CR0,0,200,200_.jpg)
“Inside us there is something that has no name, that something is what we are.”
― Blindness
― Blindness
![Hermann Hesse](https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/authors/1499981916i/1113469._UX200_CR0,31,200,200_.jpg)
“When someone seeks," said Siddhartha, "then it easily happens that his eyes see only the thing that he seeks, and he is able to find nothing, to take in nothing because he always thinks only about the thing he is seeking, because he has one goal, because he is obsessed with his goal. Seeking means: having a goal. But finding means: being free, being open, having no goal.”
― Siddhartha
― Siddhartha
![Haruki Murakami](https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/authors/1615497402i/3354._UX200_CR0,5,200,200_.jpg)
“Memories warm you up from the inside. But they also tear you apart.”
― Kafka on the Shore
― Kafka on the Shore
![Simone Weil](https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/authors/1318043623i/18395._UX200_CR0,20,200,200_.jpg)
“Imaginary evil is romantic and varied; real evil is gloomy, monotonous, barren, boring. Imaginary good is boring; real good is always new, marvelous, intoxicating.”
―
―
![Gabriel García Márquez](https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/authors/1588856705i/13450._UX200_CR0,40,200,200_.jpg)
“He dug so deeply into her sentiments that in search of interest he found love, because by trying to make her love him he ended up falling in love with her. Petra Cotes, for her part, loved him more and more as she felt his love increasing, and that was how in the ripeness of autumn she began to believe once more in the youthful superstition that poverty was the servitude of love. Both looked back then on the wild revelry, the gaudy wealth, and the unbridled fornication as an annoyance and they lamented that it had cost them so much of their lives to find the paradise of shared solitude. Madly in love after so many years of sterile complicity, they enjoyed the miracle of living each other as much at the table as in bed, and they grew to be so happy that even when they were two worn-out people they kept on blooming like little children and playing together like dogs.”
― One Hundred Years of Solitude
― One Hundred Years of Solitude
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