His place was always set at the table, in case he rturned from the dead without warning .

How strange women are.

Justice limps along, but gets there all the same.

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

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.

She would defend herself, saying that love, no matter what else it might be, was a natural talent. She would say: You are either born knowing how, or you never know.

Blood circulated through her veins with the fluidity of a song that branched off into the most hidden areas of her body and returned to her heart, purified by love.