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1 " How the clock moves on, relentlessly,with such assurance that it eats the years.The days are small and transitory grapes,The months grow faded, taken out of time.It fades, it falls away, the moment, firedby that implacable artilleryand suddenly, only a year is left to us,a month, a day, and death turns up in the diary. "
― Pablo Neruda , Extravagaria
2 " He vivido tanto que un díatendrán que olvidarme por fuerza. "