Character: Nuria Monfort

In my memory imprinted one phrase from the novel Julian, this phrase has always been particularly dear to me: "as long as we remember we are alive." Before I met Julian, I knew him. Now I feel I know you. Know and trust as anyone. Remember me, Daniel. At least sometimes, at least furtively, remember, okay? Don't let me go.

We are all puppets in the hands of his own unconscious.

And then memory surfaced war. For those who unleashed it, too, were once children.

I was so afraid of all this, he did not notice that as I got older, did not notice how life is passing, that my youth I sacrificed love for a man with a crippled soul, a man-Ghost.

Peace was established among mistrust and hatred.

When at last peace came, it carried a prison and a cemetery, and then dragging a shroud of silence and shame, enveloping the souls of the living. There was not one pair of hands, untainted and innocent eyes.

When he came to real pain, compassion no longer exists. Nothing promotes memory loss, war, Daniel. We are silent, and try to convince us that all what we saw, what they did, learned from ourselves and other selves, is nothing more than an illusion, a bad dream. In war there is no memory. No one dares to comprehend what is happening, and after that have no voices to tell the truth, and there comes a time when no one not exactly remember. Then the war comes back again, with another face and another name, to devour everything that is left behind.

That was the day I turned twenty-four years, but I already knew that the best things in my life that was left behind.

On the stairs I met Mr. Darcey, the old magician, who predicted a young girls fate in the lines of the hand in exchange for a kiss. He took my left hand and sadly looked at me:
- Your heart is poisoned, Mademoiselle.

I watched her walk down the street, and in that moment realized that Julian will never be mine, I lost him before acquired.

Time it smooths out, fixes even such strong feelings.

A story is a letter the author writes to himself, to explain what otherwise cannot understand.

For most of us, this happiness, or, on the contrary, the misfortune to watch as life slowly passes, while we are not even aware of this report.

Life has taught me never to lose hope, but not too rely on it. Hope is cruel and vain, she has no conscience.