Death really did not matter to him but life did, and therefore the sensation he felt when they gave their decision was not a feeling of fear but of nostalgia.

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.

This soup tastes like windows

The year I turned ninety, I wanted to give myself the gift of a night of wild love with an adolescent virgin.

That's maybe the reason he does so many things so that he will not have to think .

Why were you so old when we met? I answered with the truth: Age isn't how old you are but how old you feel.

He thought about his people without sentimentality, with a strict closing of his accounts with life, beginning to understand how much he really loved the people he hated most.