He looked back at me, he was taking note of the moment in his head. The moment the fairy tale crumbled.
I’m not convinced of anything. I don’t trust my memory, which tells me that the entire village gathered in front of the house that night. They had come to do something bad. I can still see the whole thing. A tribal ritual.
Silent the bird in the wood
My very notion of our entire twenty-year relationship went straight to the depths of Hell. None of the roses I had sent her over the years — to her home, to her dressing room — could explain, could excuse, such a colossal misunderstanding.
A fragile ego is a torturous, irredeemable, and irremediable, quality for a writer. And yet, oh so common.
Here, in just a few square kilometers, you can find everything that defines our Europe, the old one and the new.
By the time I reach the café, I manage to wipe the grin off my face somewhat; it’s not right, forcing some desperate woman to see how happy I am.
St Teresa of Ávila was a strong, wilful woman. After her death her enormous popularity led to this humble, handsome, splendid Spanish virgin from a noble family being transmuted by church dignitaries and bureaucrats into a plaster saint.
“It’s a really tough decision,” she said with a laugh. “I like your mouth but the Hungarian’s eyes. They are like broken glass.”