Recuso-me a acreditar que a vida é um mero caos desorganizado. Não vejo como nós possamos ser simples peões num jogo sem regras e sem sentido. Na minha cabeça, tudo acontece por um motivo, tudo tem um significado (ainda que, por vezes, só o descubramos passados meses, anos, décadas). O bom, o mau e o assim-assim. Algures, em algum momento, aquele acontecimento que me feriu há-de ter um motivo de ser.
Tem que ser assim. Ou, pelo menos, eu tenho que acreditar que assim é; senão, qual será a racionalização possível por trás deste Mundo?
[ and i've been a fool and i've been blind - i can never leave the past behind. ]
«I have a friend, a jazz musician, trumpet player. Really terrific. And I go and hear him jam every month or so. And he plays this piece I love: an old Chet Baker song. And he blows the same notes every time, but every time it sounds different.
And we had drinks one night - when I used to drink - and I tried to tell him how that song made me feel... how the music made me feel and how his playing made me feel. And he just kept shakin' his head, and he said:
"Joan, you can't talk about music. Talking about music is like dancing about architecture. "
I just said, "Well, gonna get all philosophical on me. It's just as pointless as talking about a lot of things. Love, for instance."
And my friend laughed, and he said:
"Definitely. Most definitely. Talking about love is like dancing about architecture."
So I don't know. He might be right. But it ain't gonna stop me from trying.»