She let him finish, scratching his head with the tips of her fingers, and without his having revealed that he was weeping from love, she recognized immediately the oldest sobs in the history of man.

There is always something left to love.

She would not shed a tear, she would not waste the rest of her years simmering in the maggot broth of memory.

It was inevitable: the scent of bitter almonds always reminded him of the fate of unrequited love.

From the moment I wrote 'Leaf Storm' I realized I wanted to be a writer and that nobody could stop me and that the only thing left for me to do was to try to be the best writer in the world.

Be calm. God awaits you at the door.

Over the years they both reached the same wise conclusion by different paths: it was not possible to live together in any other way, or love in any other way, and nothing in this world was more difficult than love.