Each day is a drive through history.
The most loving parents and relatives commit murder with smiles on their faces. They force us to destroy the person we really are: a subtle kind of murder.
Where are the feasts we were promised? Where is the wine, the new wine, dying on the vine.
No one thought up being. He who thinks he has, step forward.
The future is uncertain but the end is always near.
That's what real love amounts to - letting a person be what he really is.