The Spy

by Paulo Coelho

At this moment, I look back at my life and realize that memory is a river, one that always runs backward.

The memories always win, and with them comes a demon that is even more terrifying than melancholy: remorse.

I am a woman who was born at the wrong time and nothing can be done to fix this.

“Flowers teach us that nothing is permanent: not their beauty, not even the fact that they will inevitably wilt, because they will still give new seeds. Remember this when you feel joy, pain, or sadness. Everything passes, grows old, dies, and is reborn.”

He failed to understand that dance is a poem, one where each movement represents a word.

“It took me four years to learn how to paint like a Renaissance master and my entire life to go back to drawing like a child. There’s the real secret: children’s drawings. What you’re seeing may seem childish, but it represents what’s most important in art.”

I understood why Catholics confess, even though they must know priests share the same sins, or worse. It did not matter who was listening; what mattered was leaving the wound open for the sun to purify and the rainwater to wash.

It was a strange business, this hatred for people just because of their religion.

In a war, the first casualty is human dignity.