Nothing resembles a person as much as the way he dies.
Wherever they might be they always remember that the past was a lie, that memory has no return, that every spring gone by could never be recovered, and that the wildest and most tenacious love was an ephemeral truth in the end.
Death really did not matter to him but life did, and therefore the sensation he felt when they gave their decision was not a feeling of fear but of nostalgia.
The world is divided into those who screw and those who do not. He distrusted those who did not – when they strayed from the straight and narrow it was something so unusual for them that they bragged about love as if they had just invented it.
In the end, it is impossible not to become what others believe you are.
It was a love of perpetual flight.
El secreto de una buena vejez no es mas que un pacto honrado con la soledad.
Disbelief is more resistant than faith because it is sustained by the senses.
I would not have traded the delights of my suffering for anything in the world.
To all, I would say how mistaken they are when they think that they stop falling in love when they grow old, without knowing that they grow old when they stop falling in love.
Those who wanted to sleep, not from fatigue but because of the nostalgia of dreams...
Si vas a volverte loco, vuelve te solo.
Let me stay here,” he said. “There was soap.
Things have a life of their own. It’s simply a matter of waking up their souls.
It had to teach her to think of love as a state of grace: not the means to anything but the alpha and omega, an end it itself.
There is no greater glory than to die for love.
How will I ever get out of this labyrinth!
The rain would not have bothered Fernanda, after all, her whole life had been spent as if it were raining.
For they had lived together long enough to know that love was always love, anytime and anyplace, but it was more solid the closer it came to death.
Everyone has three lives: a public life, a private life, and a secret life.