“It’s enough for me to be sure that you and I exist at this moment.”

A man knows when he is growing old because he begins to look like his father.

Why were you so old when we met? I answered with the truth: Age isn’t how old you are but how old you feel.

opened the door a crack wide enough for the entire world to pass through .

Even when the winds of misfortune blow, amazing things can still happen.

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.

Take advantage of it now, while you are young, and suffer all you can, because these things don’t last your whole life.

She likes to try everything, out of curiosity, but she’ll be sorry if she isn’t guided by her heart.

Just imagine, a cow on the balcony of the nation, what an awful thing, what a shitty country.

Nobody deserves your tears, but whoever deserves them will not make you cry.

The more transparent the writing, the more visible the poetry.

Inspiration gives no warnings.

He pleaded so much that he lost his voice. His bones began to fill with words.

You have to have spent the night at sea, sitting in a life raft and looking at your watch, to know that the night is immeasurably longer than the day.

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.

The truth is I’m getting old, I said. We already are old, she said with a sigh. What happens is that you don’t feel it on the inside, but from the outside everybody can see it.

It is a triumph of life that old people lose their memories of inessential things.

When everyone that exists right now becomes history packed into the soil and stars I wonder what they will learn about us.

She was the freedom of his existence that rushed in like tsunami, that ignited his breaths into calm.

Moon and stars are what my dark sky has felt but with the story love of his existence.

Moon and stars are what my dark sky has felt but with the story love of his existence.

I can see the sun, but even if I cannot see the sun, I know that it exists. And to know that the sun is there – that is living.

When I stopped believing in love, the universe sent you to remind me that love, true love, does exist, even for me.

If you knew the way you made my heart break and eyes tear, you would curse your existence .

You breathe, you love, you feel – and that’s enough to learn to see beauty in details. Is it not an art of living to create happiness where it does not exist?