Tears blur ones faults and permit blaming, with no objection, fate. I was crying because I had just lost the father for whom I had always lived. Keeping him little company didn't matter. Weren't my efforts to better myself done to give him some satisfaction?
He had noticed that when two Italians find themselves to the same table, they had the great desire to leave it in order not to hear anymore the other.
At his grave as well to all those on which I cried, my pain was also dedicated to that part of me that was buried in it.
Unlike other diseases life is always mortal.
Tears sometimes are a substitute to a scream.
Who knows if I love her? It's a doubt that went along me for all the life and today I can think that the love accompanied by a lot of doubts is true love.
Who knows whether, if I had given up smoking, I should really have become the strong perfect man I imagined? Perhaps it was this very doubt that bound me to my vice, because life is so much pleasanter if one is able to believe in one's own latent greatness.(from "Zeno's Conscience")