Each of us chooses the tone for telling his or her own story. I would like to choose the durable clarity of a platinum print, but nothing in my destiny possesses the luminosity. I live among diffuse shadings, veiled mysteries, uncertainties; the tone of telling my life is closer to that of a portrait in sepia.

She intended to swallow the world and he lived crushed by reality.

Words are not that important when you recognize intentions.

The longer I live, the more uninformed I feel. Only the young have an explanation for everything.

In Venezuela, when I was living there, crime was growing. You couldn't feel safe anywhere. You couldn't leave your car in the street because it would be stolen. You coun't live in your house if you didn't have a high-security alarm system, because you would be burglarized seven times a week.

The pain of losing my child was a cleansing experience. I had to throw overboard all excess baggage and keep only what is essential.

Real soup is to the body what peace is to the soul.