Only do not forget, if I wake up crying it's only because in my dream I'm a lost child hunting through the leaves of the night for your hands....

In this part of the story I am the one who dies, the only one, and I will die of love because I love you, because I love you, Love, in fire and in blood.

To feel the love of people whom we love is a fire that feeds our life.

You are like nobody since I love you.

Laughter is the language of the soul.

Let us forget with generosity those who cannot love us

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight. I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

But I love your feet only because they walked upon the earth and upon the wind and upon the waters, until they found me.

You can cut all the flowers but you cannot keep Spring from coming.

So I wait for you like a lonely house till you will see me again and live in me. Till then my windows ache.

As if you were on fire from within. The moon lives in the lining of your skin.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

I want To do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.

Someday, somewhere - anywhere, unfailingly, you'll find yourself, and that, and only that, can be the happiest or bitterest hour of your life.

Love is so short, forgetting is so long.

I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I do think that good actors can do any part. It doesn't mean that they are the best ones to do it.

And as for the rest, let life happen to you. Believe me: life is in the right, always.

We make our way through Everything like thread passing through fabric, giving shape to images that we ourselves do not know.

I am a house gutted by fire where only the guilty sometimes sleep before the punishment that devours them hounds them out in the open.

Your solitude will expand and become a place where you can live in the twilight, where the noise of other people passes, far in the distance.

Do not allow yourself to be misled by the surfaces of things

So we are grasped by what we cannot grasp.

Art too is just a way of living.