He Was Carrying A Suitcase With Clothing

They Looked Like Two Children," She Told Me. And That Thought Frightened Her, Because She'd Always Felt That Only Children Are Capable Of Everything.

He Recognized Her Despite The Uproar, Through His Tears Of Unrepeatable Sorrow At Dying Without Her, And He Looked At Her For The Last And Final Time With Eyes More Luminous, More Grief-stricken, More Grateful Than She Had Ever Seen Them In Half A Century Of A Shared Life, And He Managed To Say To Her With His Last Breath: “only God Knows How Much I Loved You

When I Sit Down To Write, Which Is The Essential Moment In My Life, I Am Completely Alone. Whenever I Write A Book, I Accumulate A Lot Of Documentation. That Background Material Is The Most Intimate Part Of My Private Life. It's A Little Embarrassing - Like Being Seen In Your Underwear It's Like The Way Magicians Never Tell Others How They Make A Dove Come Out Of A Hat.

She Felt So Old, So Worn Out, So Far Away From The Best Moments Of Her Life That She Even Yearned For Those That She Remembered As The Worst… Her Heart Of Compressed Ash, Which Had Resisted The Most Telling Blows Of Daily Reality Without Strain, Fell Apart With The First Waves Of Nostalgia. The Need To Feel Sad Was Becoming A Vice As The Years Eroded Her. She Became Human In Her Solitude.

I Ask Myself How I Could Give In To This Perpetual Vertigo That I In Fact Provoked And Feared. I Floated Among Erratic Clouds And Talked To Myself In Front Of The Mirror In The Vain Hope Of Confirming Who I Was. My Delirium Was So Great That During A Student Demonstration Complete With Rocks And Bottles, I Had To Make An Enormous Effort Not To Lead It As I Held Up A Sign That Would Sanctify My Truth: I Am Mad With Love.