In the Midst of Winter

by Isabel Allende

In her description of him to her daughter, Lucia said that he was liviano de sangre—light blooded—a Chilean expression for someone who is good natured and makes himself loved without meaning to and for no obvious reason.

At that moment he clearly saw how small and limited his existence had become. Then he really did feel afraid, afraid of having wasted so many years shut in on himself, afraid of the speed with which time was passing and old age and death were approaching.

There was nothing more pathetic than the sound of a fork on a plate in an empty house.

“You never ask people in need who they are or where they’ve come from, Richard. We’re all the same in misfortune,” Joseph would preach to his son.