Beatrice

“Eu quero ser livre para viver. Eu quero ter paz com o que me trouxe até aqui. Eu quero me libertar dos fantasmas que me fizeram companhia até hoje. Quero seguir a minha própria estrada, em frente, apesar do mal que me fizeram e do mal que eu causei. Eu deixo aqui os meus traumas, deixo aqui as minhas dores, deixo aqui as minhas culpas e quero viver a minha história. Eu quero tomar parte da minha felicidade.”
― Lorena Portela, Primeiro Eu Tive Que Morrer

“I will love you until the chances of us running into one another slip from slim to zero, and until your face is fogged by distant memory, and your memory faced by distant fog, and your fog memorized by a distant face, and your distance distanced by the memorized memory of a foggy fog.

I will love you no matter where you go and who you see, no matter where you avoid and who you don’t see, and no matter who sees you avoiding where you go. I will love you no matter what happens to you, and no matter how I discover what happens to you, and no matter what happens to me as I discover this, and now matter how I am discovered after what happens to me as I am discovering this.

I will love you if you don’t marry me. I will love you if you marry someone else, your co-star perhaps, or Y, or even O, or anyone Z through A, even R. Although sadly I believe it will be quite some time before two women can be allowed to marry and I will love you if you have a child, and I will love you if you have two children, or three children, or even more, although I personally think three is plenty, and I will love you if you never marry at all, and never have children, and spend your years wishing you had married me after all, and I must say that on late, cold nights I prefer this scenario out of all the scenarios I have mentioned.
That, Beatrice, is how I will love you even as the world goes on its wicked way.”
― Lemony Snicket

“Queria saber: Depois que se é feliz, o que acontece? O que vem depois?”
― Clarice Lispector, Near to the Wild Heart

“For the heart, life is simple: it beats for as long as it can. Then it stops.”
― Karl Ove Knausgård, Min kamp 1