I no longer love her, that's certain, but maybe I love her. Love is so short, forgetting is so long.
Pablo NerudaAbout author
- Author's profession: Writer, Diplomat, Poet
- Nationality: chilean
- Born: July 12, 1904
- Died: September 23, 1973
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An imperfectly remembered life is a useless treachery. Every day, more fragments of the past roll around heavily in the chambers of an empty brain, shedding bits of color, a sentence or a fragrance, something that changes and then disappears. It drops like a stone to the bottom of the cave.
Barbara Kingsolver
A strong, vague persuasion that it was better to go forward than backward, and that I could go forward— that a way, however narrow and difficult, would in time open— predominated over other feelings: its influence hushed them so far, that at last I became sufficiently tranquil to be able to say my prayers and seek my couch. I had just extinguished my candle and lain down, when a deep, low, mighty tone swung through the night. At first I knew it not; but it was uttered twelve times, and at the...
Charlotte Bronte