It was inevitable: the scent of bitter almonds always reminded him of the fate of unrequited love.

How will I ever get out of this labyrinth!

The war is in the mountains,” he said. “For as long as I can remember, they have killed us in the cities with decrees, not with bullets.

I discovered the miracle that all things that sound are music, including the dishes and silverware in the dishwasher, as long as they fulfill the illusion of showing us where life is heading.

Thinking that it would console him, she took a piece of charcoal and erased the innumerable loves that he still owed her for, and she voluntarily brought up her own most solitary sadnesses so as not to leave him alone in his weeping.

What matters in life is not what happens to you but what you remember and how you remember it.

Once again she shuddered with the evidence that time was not passing, as she had just admitted, but that it was turning in a circle.