Her laugh was sad and taciturn, seemingly detached from any feeling of the moment, like something she kept in the cupboard and took out only when she had to, using it with no feeling of ownership, as if the infrequency of her smiles had made her forget the normal way to use them.

Just imagine, a cow on the balcony of the nation, what an awful thing, what a shitty country.

One can be in love with several people at the same time, feel the sorrow with each, and not betray any of them.

Everything that goes into my mouth seems to make me fat, everything that comes out of my mouth embarrasses me.

If you lie down in a village square hoping to capture a sea gull, you could stay there your whole life without succeeding. But a hundred miles from shore it's different. Sea gulls have a highly developed instinct for self-preservation on land but at sea they're very cocky.

She was a ghost in a strange house that overnight had become immense and solitary and through which she wandered without purpose, asking herself in anguish which one of them was deader: the man who had died or the woman he had left behind.

I want the same one, the way she always is, without failures, without fights, without bad memories.