The mind creates a narrative self, a kind of ongoing story about who we are. But this narrative is a construct, no less than a novel—and like a novel, it can be rewritten.
Time is a river which sweeps me along, but I am the river; it is a tiger which destroys me, but I am the tiger; it is a fire which consumes me, but I am the fire. The world, unfortunately, is real; I, unfortunately, am Borges.
6d ago
Underscored — save the words that stop you in your tracks.
