“But from each crime are born bullets that will one day seek out in you where the…” — Pablo Neruda

And one by one the nights between our separated cities are joined to the night that unites us.

A child who does not play is not a child, but the man who doesn't play has lost forever the child who lived in him and who he will miss terribly.

Love is so short, forgetting is so long.

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