- Stella, I was wondering...
- Yeah?
- A tooth...
A tooth is a part of ourselves, isn't it?
Like a...bit of our personality.
- I don't know what you mean.
- I remember in the newspaper,
a man lost his arm in an accident and wanted to have it buried.
-He wanted to do what?
- Have it buried in the cemetery.
- He must have been nuts.
- The authorities refused. The arm was cremated and that was that.
- Where did this happen? In France?
- I wonder if they refused to give him the ashes
and if so, by what right?
- Haven't you got anything more cheerful to talk about?
- All right, that'll do.
- Don't worry.
- Tell me...
At what precise moment...
...does an individual stop being who he thinks he is?
- You know, I don't like complications.
- Cut off my arm. I say, "Me and my arm."
You cut off my other arm. I say, "Me and my two arms."
You...take out...
...take out my stomach, my kidneys,
assuming that were possible...
And I say, "Me and my intestines."
Follow me?
And now, if you cut off my head...
...would I say, "Me and my head" or "Me and my body"?
What right has my head to call itself me?
What right?
Oh, God.
The Tenant
de Auster
"El hecho de que uno vague por el desierto no quiere decir que necesariamente haya una tierra prometida"
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