They no longer felt like newlyweds, and even less like belated lovers. It was as if they had lept over the arduous calvary of conjugal life and gone straight to the heart of love. They were together in silence like an old married couple wary of life, beyond the pitfalls of passion, beyond the brutal mockery of hope and the phantoms of disillusion: beyond love. 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.
I see better with my hands.
The heart's memory eliminates the bad and magnifies the good and thanks to this artifice we manage to endure the burdens of the past.
I don't believe in God, but I'm afraid of Him.
My heart has more rooms in it than a whore house.
It was inevitable: the scent of bitter almonds always reminded him of the fate of unrequited love.