A singularidade da experiência humana...

...está na sua impressionante estabilidade. Somos sempre os mesmos, no belo e no horrendo, na Rússia de Tolstói ou no nosso 2016.  

"How often he had told himself that to be loved by her was happiness! And now that she loved him as only a woman can for whom love outweighs all else that is good in life, he was much further from happiness than when he had followed her from Moscow [...] He looked at her as a man might look at a faded flower he had plucked, in which it was difficult for him to trace the beauty that had made him pick and so destroy it". - em Anna Karenina 

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