Constanza Carolina

“The Nobodies

Fleas dream of buying themselves a dog, and nobodies dream of escaping
poverty: that one magical day good luck will suddenly rain down on
them---will rain down in buckets. But good luck doesn't rain down
yesterday, today, tomorrow, or ever. Good luck doesn't even fall in a
fine drizzle, no matter how hard the nobodies summon it, even if their
left hand is tickling, or if they begin the new day with their right
foot, or start the new year with a change of brooms.

The nobodies: nobody's children, owners of nothing. The nobodies: the
no ones, the nobodied, running like rabbits, dying through life,
screwed every which way.

Who are not, but could be.
Who don't speak languages, but dialects.
Who don't have religions, but superstitions.
Who don't create art, but handicrafts.
Who don't have culture, but folklore.
Who are not human beings, but human resources.
Who do not have faces, but arms.
Who do not have names, but numbers.
Who do not appear in the history of the world, but in the police
blotter of the local paper.
The nobodies, who are not worth the bullet that kills them.”
― Eduardo Galeano, Open Veins of Latin America: Five Centuries of the Pillage of a Continent

“What is the point of being alive if you don't at least try to do something remarkable?”
― John Green, An Abundance of Katherines

“El libro es jardín que se puede llevar en el bolsillo, nave espacial que viaja en la mochila, arma para enfrentar las mejores batallas y afrentar a los peores enemigos, semilla de libertad, pañuelo para las lágrimas. El libro es cama mullida y cama de clavos, el libro te obliga a pensar, a sonreír, a llorar, a enojarte ante lo injusto y aplaudir la venganza de los justos. El libro es comida, techo, asiento, ropa que me arropa, boca que besa mi boca. Lugar que contiene el universo.”
― Benito Taibo, Persona normal

“I care for myself. The more solitary, the more friendless, the more unsustained I am, the more I will respect myself.”
― Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre