Las casualidades son las cicatrices del destino
La vita le aveva insegnato che viviamo di grandi e piccole menzogne quanto dell’aria. Diceva che se fossimo capaci di vedere senza paraocchi la realtà del mondo e di noi stessi per un solo giorno, dal...
La poesía miente, aunque en bonito.
Kolo sreće počelo se okretati, ali ovaj put on nije bacio kockice.
Jedina je pouka koja se može izvući iz ove priče, ili iz bilo koje druge, to da u stvarnom životu za razliku od mašte, ništa nije kako se pričinja.
It's aquarium light and it's cathedral ceilings offered asylum and a lounge where coffee substitutes were served to those who still try to believe that life went on, and that tomorrow, or perhaps the...
In this manner, secretly, ....let the years go by, silencing their hearts and souls to the point where, from so much keeping quiet, they forgot the words with which to express their real feelings and...
In questa vita si perdona tutto, tranne dire la verità.
Ignoravo il piacere che può dare la parola scritta, il piacere di penetrare nei segreti dell'anima, di abbandonarsi all'immaginazione, alla bellezza e al mistero dell'invenzione letteraria.
I wondered what on earth she saw in me that could make her want to befriend me, other than a pale reflection of herself, an echo of solitude and loss. In my schoolboy reveries, we were always two fugi...
I had not understood that this was a story about lonely people, about absence and loss, and that that was why I had taken refuge in it until it became confused with my own life, like someone who has e...
Había quedado con Bea en el claustro de la universidad a las cinco y, muy a mi pesar, el día amenazaba con hacérseme más largo que Los hermanos Karamazov.
Frente a un ataúd, todos vemos sólo lo bueno o lo que queremos ver.
Forgive me,’ he whispered. I held my father’s gaze. Sometimes he seemed to grow a little older just by looking at me and remembering. I stood up and hugged him quietly. He held me tight and when he bu...
Every book, every volume you see here, has a soul. The soul of the person who wrote it and of those who read it and lived and dreamed with it. Every time a book changes hands, every time someone runs...
Decent people are killed slowly in this country. Quick deaths are reserved for scoundrels. They kill people like me by ignoring us, shutting all the doors in our faces and pretending we don't exist.
Cuanto más oía de aquella historia, más perdido me sentía.
Cuando sólo se habla por hablar, poco se piensa y aún menos se hace.
Bea had always detested visiting the city of the dead, where all she saw was a morbid staging of death and a poor attempt at convincing terrified visitors that ancestry and good names persevere even i...
Aquella noche Mijail me contó que él creía que la vida nos concede a cada uno de nosotros unos escasos momentos de pura felicidad. A veces son sólo dias o semanas. A veces, años. Todo depende de nuest...