In those days, Christmas still retained a certain aura of magic and mystery. The powdery light of winter, the hopeful expressions of people who lived among shadows and silence, lent that setting a slight air of promise in which at least children and those who had learned the art of forgetting could still believe.

I still remember the day my father took me to the Cemetery of Forgotten Books for the first time.

You young people never say anything. And us old folks don't know how to stop talking.

Everything in life in nonsense. it's just a question of persepctive

Wine turns the wise man into a fool and the fool into a wise man.

Never trust girls who let themselves be touched right away. But even less those who need a priest for approval.

The greatest multiplex in the universe is inside your mind, and the only ticket you need is a good, well-written novel.