Going back to a book is like returning to the cities we believe to be our own, but which, in reality, we've forgotten and been forgotten by.
It's not as if our lives are divided simply into light and dark. There's shadowy middle ground.
I distinctly remember connecting to this line in The Great Gatsby, but it's really just an excuse for the basic af fall photos. Don't worry, no pumpkin spice lattes.
Nothing makes you realize the weird quirks of your own culture quite like a country where you all speak the same language, yet somehow don't.
We have only a little time to please the living, but all eternity to love the dead.
“Ser uno mismo es, siempre, llegar a ser ese otro que somos y que llevamos escondido en nuestro interior, más que nada como promesa o posibilidad de ser.”
When summer vacation feels like a dream you read about in a poem.