There is a character in my short stories who, doing a vow of silence, says: “peace of mind is deafness”. This character is me, in my unbearable reflections. There is nothing capable of me off more than the word, the rumor of a human voice. I say that and surely you think I’m joking. But whenever I imagine a perfect world, there is no sound: silence is absolute, undisturbed. And I wonder how soon I will be annoyed by the written word as well. Let’s be reasonable: I’m not thirty, but I’m almost seventy. What if, because of advancing age, by an understandable and even natural decrease in my tolerance with things, do graphic signs bother me? Well, then I really don’t know what else life can give me.
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