No love can survive muteness.

All lovers unconsciously establish their own rules of the game, which from the outset admit of no transgression.

a man possessed with peace is always smiling

The moment Kafka attracts more attenetion than Joseph K., Kafka's posthumous death begins.

Remembering now all those farewells (fake farewells, worked-up farewells), Irena thinks: a person who messes up her goodbyes shouldn’t expect much from her re-unions.

Which doesn't mean, of course, that I'd stopped loving her, that I'd forgotten her, or that her image had paled; on the contrary; in the form of a quiet nostalgia she remained constantly within me; I longed for her as one longs for something definitively lost.

Only the most naive of questions are truly serious.