Taught him the only thing he had to learn about love: that nobody teaches life anything.

This soup tastes like windows

An artisan without memories, whose only dream was to die of fatigue in the oblivion and misery of his little gold fishes.

Lost in the solitude of his immense power, he began to lose direction.

I think just the opposite is true: love is an ideology for eternal militants, and the more misfortunes life tries to burden us with, the more essential love becomes.

Hate and love are reciprocal passions.

opened the door a crack wide enough for the entire world to pass through .