My God, if I had a heart, I would write my hate on ice, and wait for the sun to show. - Gabriel García Márquez

"Everything that belonged to her husband made her weep again: his tasseled slippers, his pajamas under the pillow, the space of his absence in the dressing table mirror, his own odor on her skin. A vague thought made her shudder: "The people one loves should take all their things with them when they die.

Nunca dejes de sonreír, ni siquiera cuando estés triste, porque nunca sabes quien se puede enamorar de tu sonrisa.

There [is] no innocence more dangerous than the innocence of age.