“I was very young and lived with my grandparents in a villa with white walls in the Calle Ocharan, in Miraflores.”

“In the front yard lives the oldest thing around, a white oakThat I used to say is my love for the world, That I now would just call love as it is.Belonging to nobody, no metaphor, the very.”

“All I want to be is very young always and very irresponsible and to feel that my life is my own-to live and be happy and die in my own way to please myself”

“The television replaced the sound of conversation that was missing from my grandparents' lives.”

“Not sorry, not calling, not cryingAll will pass like smoke of white apple treesSeized by the gold of autumn,I will no longer be young.”

“I sit there in my bed staring at the wall, feeling happy, enjoying the way the wall looks, how pink and how white it is. Pink and white, as far as I’m concerned, have never looked quite so pink and white before.”