I can't think of any one film that improved on a good novel, but I can think of many good films that came from very bad novels.

I think just the opposite is true: love is an ideology for eternal militants, and the more misfortunes life tries to burden us with, the more essential love becomes.

At some point, you no longer feel pain. Sensation disappears and reason is dulled, until you lose all grasp of time and place.

Lost in the solitude of his immense power, he began to lose direction.

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

He recognized her despite the uproar, through his tears of unrepeatable sorrow at dying without her, and he looked at her for the last and final time with eyes more luminous, more grief-stricken, more grateful than she had ever seen them in half a century of a shared life, and he managed to say to her with his last breath: “Only God knows how much I loved you

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