If the Olive Trees knew the hands that planted them, Their Oil would become Tears.

History laughs at both the victim and the aggressor.

Standing here, staying here, permanent here, eternal here, and we have one goal, one, one: to be.

We are captives of what we love, what we desire, and what we are.

If the Olive Trees knew the hands that planted them, Their Oil would become Tears.

I love women whose hidden desires make horses put an end to their lives at the threshold

I have learned and dismantled all the words in order to draw from them a single word: Home.