I do not know who was really Saramago. But a coffee with him, babbling in some kind of unlikely language half, I drank I would be happy.
Among the few pages I've read, written in his own hand, I found mostly words and speeches that continue to chase each other.
I felt quite alone with Saramago's books.
I have just attended, or have been kept at a distance. More likely to trouble you have come, but only to peek through the window of the delivery room, and that I should press harder to see the milk flowing.
course is that I stopped reading, because I was dragged to the end, a liana invisible. On the corridor of light directed to the treasure that lies beneath the earth damp cold and dark. In fact
.
Magic.
Among the few pages I've read, written in his own hand, I found mostly words and speeches that continue to chase each other.
I felt quite alone with Saramago's books.
I have just attended, or have been kept at a distance. More likely to trouble you have come, but only to peek through the window of the delivery room, and that I should press harder to see the milk flowing.
course is that I stopped reading, because I was dragged to the end, a liana invisible. On the corridor of light directed to the treasure that lies beneath the earth damp cold and dark. In fact
.
Magic.
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