More on this book
Kindle Notes & Highlights
Our archive of memories is the closest thing we have to a record of identity.
and all I can make of it is that we are the children of chance.
Remember. Recordar. From the Latin recordari: the prefix re, for repetition, plus cordis, which means heart. Etymologically speaking, then, recordar means to channel back through the heart. So if a constellation of neurons lights up in some part of our brain each time we remember, then presumably the brain and the heart are closely linked, like two fish tied to each other by the tail.
How is it possible that education and health are consumer goods, not rights?
because what we forget takes up space just as surely as what we remember.
Not to forget this moment. Not to forget this moment. Not to forget this moment.
A book is a space-time capsule. It freezes the present and launches it into tomorrow as a message.
As far as we know, we’re the only species on the planet with the need to accumulate memory outside our brains. Drawings, paintings, recordings, photographs, films, books: Each of these platforms that eventually became art originated as an attempt to hold on to reality and pay tribute to our surroundings.
He invited us to doubt everything. To mistrust truths and constantly interrogate our surroundings. To reject official narratives as well as blatant ignorance, nonsense, and lies. To look beyond our small piece of ground with all the powers vested in our brain, which for millions of years had worked at evolving to make such a thing possible.
We need to sit down in front of a screen again and make more frequent trips to the stars. We need to heed their warning messages. We need to look again and again at that old photograph of Earth taken by the twins from millions of kilometers away and consider the fact that the mix of power, ignorance, stupidity, and nonsense that has spread disaster for centuries on our planet has been motivated solely and exclusively by the desire to dominate a small pixel of an insignificant dot in the cosmos.
Beyond photograph and memory, where will we end up? What skill will be needed to pierce the layers of time burying this instant?
