For the divine eye that looks at us from above, I am not my life—the accidental, zigzagging path through the giant maze, the line that leads from the periphery to the center—for it, I am the labyrinth itself, because there is one for each of us, constructed unconsciously by our own selves, as the snail secretes his calcinated shell, as we secrete, without knowing in what way, our brain and vertebrae.
