When you look into their faces it’s like something that was in there got up and gathered its things and walked away.

He doesn’t tell Aunt Fostalina she looks good, like I’ve heard other people do; he tells her she looks like sunrise.

Further and further we go, and the sun keeps ironing us and ironing us and ironing us.

If these walls could talk, the buildings would stutter, wouldn’t remember their names.

When things fall apart, the children of the land scurry and scatter like birds escaping a burning sky... They will never be the same again because you cannot be the same once you leave behind who and what you are, you just cannot be the same... Look at them leaving in droves, despite knowing they will be welcomed with restraint in those strange lands because they do not belong.

It’s not the lying itself that makes makes me feel bad but the fact that I’m here lying to my friends. I don’t like not playing with them and I don’t like lying to them because they are the most important thing to me and when I’m not with them I feel like I’m not even me.

We’re hungry but we’re together and we’re at home and everything is sweeter than dessert.

Look at them leaving in droves, arm in arm with loss and lost, look at them leaving in droves.

If I bring forth what is inside me, what I bring forth will save me.

As for the coldness, I have never seen it like this. I mean, coldness that makes like it wants to kill you, like it’s telling you, with its snow, that you should go back to where you came from.