"So plant your own gardens and decorate your own soul, instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers."
"Emma dropped the paper. Her first impression was of a weak feeling in her stomach and in her knees; then of blind guilt, of unreality, of coldness, of fear; then she wished that it were already the next day. Immediately afterwards she realized that that wish was futile because the death of her father was the only thing that had happened in the world, and it would go on happening endlessly."
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Source: Jorge Luis Borges (1964). “Labyrinths: Selected Stories & Other Writings”, p.132, New Directions Publishing
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