Parthenope

You can have it all, without even asking. Everyone will be happy for you. You don't believe me. Just try it. Beauty is like war. It opens doors.

— If I were forty years younger, would you marry me?
— That's not the right question.
— What's the right one?
— If I were forty years older, would she marry me?

— What are you thinking about?
— What happened to all the beautiful plans we made? As drunkards in the night? All the promises of friendship, all the declarations of eternal love Vanish with sleep. They reappear the next day. Blurred. Distant. Impossible. In uncertain lucidity of the morning hangover, life is… Simply unbearable.

— "How many people have slept here? What have lovers said to each other in this bed? They always say the same things. Luckily, there were writers who varied the monotony of their words. I can smell the scent of everyone who has ever slept here. And you?"
— And you? Do you smell it?
— Smell what?
— The scent of dead loves.

— What are you doing?
— Oh, the usual. Taking a long, sad walk.
— Can I join you?
— No.
— Why not?
— Because I don't want to steal one minute of your youth from you.

You young people want answers, but you don't know how to ask questions.

The silence. It's a mystery in the beautiful people. The failure in the ugly ones.

— She's not in love with you.
— I have, on the other hand, all my life. But why?
— Because she always runs away.