Nobody is worth crying for, and those that are worth it will not make you cry.

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 shook my hand and said goodbye with a sentence that might have been either good advice or a threat: "Take good care of yourself.

There's no greater misfortune than dying alone.

Her laugh was sad and taciturn, seemingly detached from any feeling of the moment, like something she kept in the cupboard and took out only when she had to, using it with no feeling of ownership, as if the infrequency of her smiles had made her forget the normal way to use them.

Children's lies are signs of great talent.

They looked like two children," she told me. And that thought frightened her, because she'd always felt that only children are capable of everything.