Silence is a text easy to misread.
Being human is the most terrible loneliness in the universe.
The hand is no different from what it creates.
The madness of demons is rage – the madness of angels – hope.
I dream of a true husband—a good man, not a brute, nor a champion of men on the battlefield; I dream but of a gentle man, one who neither speaks too loud nor ignores evil.
Now you see. We are all fugitives. We have always been fugitives from the void. Whatever comfort, whatever power we gain from outside of ourselves diminishes us — because comfort and power, unless they are won from the void inside of us, are illusions that make us forget the emptyness that carries us. When we forget that, we believe we deserve comfort and power and so are capable of any evil. We deserve nothing but what we make of ourselves. We deserve nothing else. And when we understand that, then nothing is enough.
…for a true Christian, all strangers are Jesus.
Ricardo Pinto’s The Chosen strikes the reader with great force.