...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.

I think that the idea that I'm writing for many more people than I ever imagined has created a certain general responsibility that is literary and political. There's even pride involved, in not wanting to fall short of what I did before.

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

There is always something left to love.

She sensed it, saw my eyes wet with tears, and only then must have discovered I was no longer the man I had been, and I endured her glance with a courage I never thought I had.

We'll grow old waiting.

It is not true that people stop pursuing dreams because they grow old, they grow old because they stop pursuing dreams.