I mean, the city is romantic. The night is warm and balmy. We are alive. Isn't that meaning enough?
- Why won't your father publish his poems?
- Because he hates the world...and that's his way of getting back at them. To create beautiful works and then...deny them to the public, which I think is....
- Well, what makes him so angry toward the human race?
- Because after thousands of years of civilization...they still haven't learned to love.
I affirm life, despite everything.
She chose me from a hundred men ready to kill for her. We were both sure that...our relation was perfect, but there was something missing. Like, love requires such a perfect balance. It's like the human body. It may turn out that you have all the vitamins and minerals, but...if there is a single, tiny ingredient...missing, like, like...salt, for example...one dies.
She hasn't met the right person yet. When she does find the right person, this whole thing about finding peace and happiness will pass.
It's funny. Maria Elena and I...are meant for each other and not meant for each other. It's a contradiction. In order to understand it, you need a poet, like my father.
