30 phrases by Eduardo Galeano to know more about the Uruguayan journalist

Memory will keep what it’s worth. Memory knows more about me than I do; and she does not lose what deserves to be saved.

Scientists say we are made of atoms, but a little bird told me that we are made of stories.

A three-year-old boy named Luca commented the other day: ‘the world doesn’t know where your home is’. He was looking at the map. He wasn’t watching the news.

Only fools believe that silence is a vacuum. No, we are never in a vacuum. And sometimes the best way to communicate is silently.

I can not sleep. I have a woman stuck between my eyelids. If I could, I would tell her to go away; but I have a woman across my throat.

In the same way that the body needs material food to survive, the spirit also needs food to not deviate from the path of good.

The first condition for modifying reality is to know it.

We live in a culture of appearance: the marriage contract matters more than love, the funeral more than the dead, clothes more than the body and the mass more than God.

Reason makes us always make decisions in a rational and often comfortable way. Emotion leads us to the unpredictable, to the uncertain, but this strengthens the individual, leading him to prepare for difficulties.

Poverty was once considered a work of injustice. The modern world considers poverty a disability.

For me, the only certainties worthy of faith are those that have breakfast of doubts every morning.

We must be aware that the rights of nature and human rights are two names of the same dignity. And any contradiction is artificial.

It doesn’t matter where I came from, but where I want to go.

The system, which does not give food, does not give love either: it condemns many to hunger for bread and many more to hunger for hugs.

On the wall of a bar in Madrid, a sign reads: “Singing is prohibited”. On the wall of the airport in Rio de Janeiro, a notice states: “It is forbidden to play with the luggage carts”. In other words: there are still people who sing, there are still people who play.

In the struggle of good against evil, it is always the people who die.

Our defeat was always implicit in the victory of others. Our wealth has always generated our poverty by nurturing the prosperity of others: empires and their native bailiffs.

There is always the eternal struggle of good against evil, and with humans it could not be different.

After midnight, silence arrives. Silence enters, settles in, wins.

The wind whistles inside me. I’m undressed. Owner of nothing, owner of nobody, not even the owner of my certainties, I am my face against the wind, against the wind, and I am the wind that hits my face.

The freedom of the market allows you to accept the prices imposed on you.

So what is utopia for? It’s for that, for walking.

If the grape is made of wine, maybe we are the words that tell what we are.

That was the commandment that God forgot: Thou shalt be part of Nature. You will obey the Nature of which you are a part.

Gypsy life. Things follow me and go away. They are mine at night, I lose them during the day. I’m not attached to things; they don’t decide anything.

The freedom of money is the enemy of the freedom of people.

The body is not a machine as science tells us. Not a fault as religion made us believe. The body is a party.

I miss a country that doesn’t exist on the map yet.

Whoever dies is born, whoever is born dies, and in everything that has been created or is about to be created, the right and the reverse are mixed together, until it is no longer known who is in charge or who is commanded, or where the above is. , nor where is the below. Later than early, the divine order reestablishes its hierarchies and gives back to each what is his.