In the beginning, when the world was new and nothing had a name, my father took me to see the ice.

The spirit of her invincible heart guided her through the shadows.

...The girl raised her eyes to see who was passing by the window, and that casual glance was the beginning of a cataclysm of love that still had not ended half a century later.

There had never been a death so foretold.

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

In that way the long-awaited visit, for which both had prepared questions and had even anticipated answers, was once more the usual everyday conversation.

He would wake for no reason in the middle of the night, and the memory of the self-absorbed love was revealed to him for what it was: a pitfall of happiness that he despised and desired at the same time, but from which it was impossible to escape.