While I'm writing, I'm far away; and when I come back, I've gone.

We must dream our way.

so I wait for you like a lonely house till you will see me again and live in me. Till then my windows ache.

I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

Sufre mas el que espera siempre que aquel que nunca espero a nadie? Does he who is always waiting suffer more than he who’s never waited for anyone?

Absence is a house so vast that inside you will pass through its walls and hang pictures on the air.

Love is short, but forgetting is long.