I am not sure that I exsist ,actually.i am all the writers that I have read,all the people that I have met,all the women that I have loved;all the cities that I have visited,all my ancestor…perhaps iwould have liked to be my father,who wrote and hade the decency of not publishing.nothing,nothing my friend;what I have told you:I am not sure of anything,I know nothing…can imagine that I not even know the date of my death
?
گویا بورخس جایی نوشته یا گفته
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