What else she doesn't know: that the man next to her would end up being her husband and the father of her two children, that after two years together he would leave her, her third and final heartbreak, and she would never love again.

That’s life for you. All the happiness you gather to yourself, it will sweep away like it’s nothing. If you ask me I don’t think there are any such things as curses. I think there is only life. That’s enough.

I feel most like myself... after I run - I go out for five miles every morning.

You can't find intimacy - you can't find home - when you're always hiding behind masks. Intimacy requires a certain level of vulnerability. It requires a certain level of you exposing your fragmented, contradictory self to someone else. You running the risk of having your core self rejected and hurt and misunderstood.

Tell her that you love her hair, that you love her skin, her lips, because, in truth, you love them more than you love your own.

We can speculate. Last time I checked, the future doesn't take my advice.

Clavo saca clavo. Nothing sacas nothing, you reply. No one will ever be like her.