Aristotle sits at a table in a Paris café, wearing headphones and looking at his cell phone. At another table, Sartre converses with four other philosophers. Through the window, the Eiffel Tower is visible, and Horace, along with Botox, observes the interior of the café. The first time I read Nietzsche , I spent two days unsure if I really existed or if I was just pretending very competently. It was like receiving a metaphysical  slap in the face. I had that typical teenage

The voice of women that never fell silent Nawal El Saadawi turned pain into words and words into struggle. Her voice lives on in every woman who refuses to be silenced. There are moments when literature and life blur into one another, as if reality itself needed the written word in order to exist. It was like that with Nawal El Saadawi , whose story struck me not only for the horror she endured, but for the courage with which she chose to speak of it. At the age of six, she

Rome did not fall, it just forgot to get up If you believe the Western Roman Empire  “fell” in 476 , like some poorly built building, I am sorry to disappoint you — that is not how it went. There were no crashes of bricks, no Roman legions  running ablaze through the streets. What really happened was a long and tedious process of decay , the kind where the patient forgets he is already dead and keeps paying taxes  anyway. The year 476 , when the friendly barbarian Odoacer  pl

When religion becomes the perfume of power   Religion , my friend, has always been the gilded crutch of power , and fascism   understood that perfectly. It is not that Mussolini  believed in God ; he believed in the effect of hanging crucifixes  in schools and putting priests  on podiums. He was a convinced atheist , but he kissed the Pope’s  hand whenever he needed the votes of little old ladies in black veils. Hitler  did not pray the rosary  either, but he spoke of Provide

Love  is gone, but literature  remains There is no heartbreak  a delightful book cannot turn into an underlined sentence . The first time I fell in love was by mistake. I thought it was love , but it was just loneliness with a Fernando Pessoa   reading playing in the background. It happens. When she left (they always do), I did what every sensitive , emotionally tangled  young man does: I locked myself away with a book  and a glass of wine . The book  was The Sorrows of Yo

What even is history, bro? History , my dear reader, isn’t just that subject you pretend to pay attention to while doodling swords  along the edges of your notebook . History  is humanity’s most elegant way of remembering all the nonsense  we’ve pulled and, if we get the chance, we are bound to repeat. History  isn’t just one word. It’s three, hiding in plain sight. First, there’s historical time , the endless stream of events , from the invention of the wheel  to the day you

Horácio Guimarães , the Old Man Online , relaxing with Botox , his faithful little dog. Take off your shoes at the door, but leave your prejudices outside My name is Horácio Guimarães . I’m 70 years old, with a creaky spine, and I have a dog named Botox  who understands more about poetry  than many influencers  out there. Here, you won’t find literary theory  stuffed with words that feel like back pain. Nor unnecessary praise for authors  who wrote a lot, said little, and sti