What is essential, therefore, is not that you no longer believe, but that God continues to believe in you.

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

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.

I don't believe in God, but I'm afraid of Him.

Nobody teaches life anything.

If you love something - let. If it is yours - it will come back. I love you not because of who you are, but for who I am when I'm with you.

She wanted to be herself again, to recover all that she had been obliged to give up in half a century of servitude that had doubtless made her happy but which, once her husband was dead, did not leave her even the vestiges of her identity.