Ernest Hemingway was in love with Africa and as with others in such a state of emotion ... he constructed for himself, according to his needs and desires, something that had little relation to the reality of the continent,

People give one another things that can't be gift wrapped.

But a human being, she, she, cannot simply exist; she is a hurricane, every thought bending and crossing its coherence inside her, nothing will let her be, not for a moment. Every emotion, every thought, is invaded by another.

I cannot live with someone who can't live without me.

People give one another things that can't be gift wrapped.

A desert is a place without expectation.