You can’t change the past, the same way as you can’t change your name. The conclusion all stories lead to is that the life one has lived is one and one alone, uniform and compact like a felted – up blanket with threads that can’t separate one from the other. That’s why if, by chance, I dwell on any detail of any day, I can be sure that in that insignificant particular lies implicit everything I have experienced, all of the past, the multitude of pasts that I have tried in vain to leave behind me, the lives that merge into a global life in the end, my life that goes on…