We knew nothing of loss. Nobody has taught us about pain. Until that moment, death had just amounted to a scary sound.

A first kiss is the demarcation line: the same information that a moment ago felt private, all of a suddens seems unfair to withhold. And with that exchange came more.

I'd rather stay asleep than have to learn all those frightening secrets.

Love sometimes makes people ruthless in a way that not even hatred can.

What kind of heart does one have to have in order to be able to get rid of these, without regret, as if they were empty beer cans?

Maybe that's what happens with age, I thought. All your life you force yourself to forget people who have hurt you, but as you get older and weaker their memory surfaces again, like a bubble in the water. You have to surrender, because you feel to tired to fight it and push it down again. And maybe, unexpectedly, you find out that instead, of revamping your anger, those memories produce an unexpected sweetness.

When people die and especially when they die tragically, others can't help but get carried away. They come up with their implausible interpretation and usually resort to cheap psychology. A sense of fatalism is the only form of relief left.