The actual line is “Why do I fall in love with every woman I see that shows me the least bit of attention?”
A man sets himself the task of making a plan of the universe. After many years, he fills a whole space with images of provinces, kingdoms, mountains, bays, ships, islands, fish, rooms, instruments, stars, horses, and people. On the threshold of death, he discovers that the patient labyrinth of lines has traced the likeness of his own face.
“
| — | Jorge Luis Borges, Epilogue to The Maker (via thepostmoderntestament) |
