Every hundred feet the world changes

Death, in the Eastern tradition, was only a passage. What wasn't clear ... was toward what place, what reality, that passage led.

No one pays attention to these killings, but the secret of the world is hidden in them.

They could read him, they could study him, they could pick him apart, but they couldn't laugh or be sad with him.

Then he went out without touching anything and put his arm around Ingeborg, and like that, with their arms around each other, they returned to the village while the whole past of the universe fell on their heads.

I’m seventeen years old, my name is Juan García Madero, and I’m in my first semester of law school. I wanted to study literature, not law, but my uncle insisted, and in the end I gave in. I’m an orphan, and someday I’ll be a lawyer. That’s what I told my aunt and uncle, and then I shut myself in my room and cried all night.

When I was done traveling, I returned convinced of one thing: we're nothing.