Tuesday, September 13, 2011
If I were able to live my life again, next time I would try to make more mistakes. I would not try to be so perfect. I would be more relaxed. I would be much more foolish than I have been. In fact, I would take very few things seriously. I would be much less sanitary. I would run more risks. I would take more trips, I would contemplate more sunsets, I would climb more mountains, I would swim more rivers. I would go to more places I have never visited. I would eat more ice cream and fewer beans. I would have more real problems, fewer imaginary ones. I was one of these people who lived prudently and prolifically every moment of his life. Certainly I had moments of great happiness: Don’t let the present slip away. I was one of those who never went anywhere without a thermometer, a hot water bottle, an umbrella, and a parachute. If I could live over again, I would go barefoot, beginning in early spring and would continue so until the end of autumn. I would take more turns on the merry-go-round. I would watch more dawns and play with more children, if I once again had a life ahead of me. But, you see, I am eighty-five and I know that I am dying.
J. L. Borges