I plead youth as a mitigating circumstance.

It's enough for me to be sure that you and I exist at this moment.

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

It was, at last, real life, with my heart safe and condemned to die of happy love in the joyful agony of any day after my hundredth birthday.

A man only has the right to look down at another when he helps him to lift himself up.

No matter what you do this year or in the next hundred, you will be dead forever.

He pleaded so much that he lost his voice. His bones began to fill with words.