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.

Love does not die, when someone gets old, people get old, because they can not love anymore.

and realized that death was not only a permanent probability, as he had always believed, but an immediate reality.

But he could not renounce his infinite capacity for illusion at the very moment he needed it most... he saw fireflies where there were none.

I would give wings to children, but I would leave it to them to learn how to fly by themselves.

All my life, I've been frightened at the moment I sit down to write.

Ah, me, if this is love, then how it torments.