“What matters are not the low blows we receive, but the print they leave on us.” – Yasmina Khadra What is left, what remains at the very end, is often all there is in reality. Our personal history programs us; facts are forgotten but the marks stay. We can forget about the facts themselves, but the ruts by which water flowed one day remain printed in our personal and unique orography. What makes up our own landscape are often those paths; what makes us act in one way or another are not so much our highly valued knowledge and different skills that overlap like small highways drawn in a cyclopean
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