«I have come to José Borges’ workshop to invite him to work together. I explain my project to him: images of him, his engraving arts, and words of mine. He is silent. And I talk and talk, explaining. And he, nothing. And so it goes on, until suddenly I realize: my words have no music. I am blowing on a broken flute. The unborn cannot be explained, cannot be understood: it is felt, it is felt when it moves. And then I stop explaining, and I tell him. I tell him the stories of scares and enchantments that I want to write, voices that I have collected on the roads and dreams of my waking life, delirious realities, realized delusions, walking words that I found or that I was found by them. I tell him the stories, and this book is born». Eduardo Galeano.