Joy's smile is much closer to tears than laughter.

Be as a bird perched on a frail branch that she feels bending beneath her, still she sings away all the same, knowing she has wings.

He had, they said, tasted in succession all the apples of the tree of knowledge, and, whether from hunger or disgust, had ended by tasting the forbidden fruit.

Love resembles a tree: it bends under its own weight, deeply rooted in our being and sometimes turns green in the ruins of a heart.

Scepticism, that dry caries of the intelligence.

Here we stop. Upon the threshold of wedding nights stands an angel smiling, his finger on his lip.

Try as you will, you cannot annihilate that eternal relic of the human heart, love.