You call mad anyone who dares to name himself philosopher, lover, or poet, while spending an entire life as accountants, elevator technicians, dentists, microbiologists, and notaries, and somehow forgetting that it is not your professions that keep the beauty of the world alive.

It is always easier to trust function than fire, utility than wonder, order than longing.

And yet the world survives not only because some people measure, repair, certify, and record it, but because others still risk feeling it deeply enough to give it meaning.