I, of whom I know nothing, I know my eyes are open, because of the tears that pour from them unceasingly.

If you haven't cried, your eyes cannot be beautiful

I don't know why, those tear-filled eyes felt very familiar to me.

Sometimes tears carry the same weight as words.

I am the immense shadow of my tears

"It's what you deserve to hear," I say firmly, my eyes going cloudy with tears. "That you're whole, that you're worth loving, that you're the best person I've ever known."

For Zaza

If there are tears in my eyes tonight, is it because you are no longer alive, or because I am? I should dedicate this story to you, but I know that you no longer exist anywhere, and my writing to you like this is pure literary artifice. In any case, this isn’t really your story, only one inspired by us. You were not Andrée; nor was I Sylvie, who speaks in my name.

Alas, tears are the poet's heritage!

Only sometimes at night when I think that you live now and are somewhere, I shed tears.

I bet there's a tear in your eye wherever you're watching this. There's nothing wrong with tears; tears are often shed in joy.

Take the blinders from your vision
take the padding from your ears
and confess you've heard me crying
and admit you've seen my tears.

The tears stream down my cheeks from my unblinking eyes. What makes me weep so? There is nothing saddening here. Perhaps it is liquefied brain.

And let these tears, distilling from mine eyes,
Be proof of my grief and innocency.

My eyes filled with tears and I wept long and hard, unable, and unwilling, to stop.