It was then that she realized that the yellow butterflies preceded the appearances of Mauricio Babilonia.

She was lost in her longing to understand.

Her heart of compressed ash, which had resisted the most telling blows of daily reality without strain, fell apart with the first waves of nostalgia.

He was healthier than the rest of us, but when you listened with the stethoscope you could hear the tears bubbling inside his heart.

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

Life is but a continual succession of opportunities for surviving.

He was carrying a suitcase with clothing in order to stay and another just like it with almost two thousand letters that she had written him. They were arranged by date in bundles ties with colored ribbons, and they were all unopened.