Valencia Quotes

Never give advice unless you have walked the walk, because anybody can talk the talk.

He said, 'What do you want?' All I could think of was peeling the skin of a Valencia orange in bed on a bright morning with someone pulling me into the covers because they want to spend two or three minutes nestling before starting their day. So I said, 'Not much.

Spanish rain, A maiden’s dress, Apothecary pills And ancient thrills; Melancholy kills A girl’s caress. (—Roman Payne; Valencia, Spain, November 2nd 2012)

I love you, Isabella Valencia.” Simple and raw, stripped of all pretense except for the naked truth that had been staring me in the face all this time. “Every single part of you, from your laugh to your humor to the way you can’t stop talking about condoms.” One of those laughs I loved so much slipped out, thick with emotion. A smile flashed across my face before I sobered again. “You think you’re broken, but I wish you could see yourself the way I see you. Smart. Strong. Beautiful. Imperfect by your own standards but so wonderfully perfect for me.

Spanish rain, A maiden’s dress, Apothecary pills And ancient thrills; Melancholy kills A girl’s caress.

Por lo demás hay que ser imbécil, hay que ser poeta, hay que estar en la luna de Valencia para perder más de cinco minutos con estas nostalgias perfectamente liquidables a corto plazo.

She didn’t know that my heart was a sandstorm waiting to open her skin in a desert of cuts. She didn’t know the animal that waited in my stomach, silently shredding the walls. For her, my heart wore small white shoes and carried a purse, went to bed early. I wanted to shoot myself into her arms so she understood the need to crash cars with me, to tear up pavement because we were beautiful.

Gwynn, she was always talking about wanting to be drunk and honestly I did want to encourage that, I wanted to go to a bar with her and let all the stuff sobriety pushed down be released so I could catch it in my palms and finally kiss her. She was just so sad. Melancholy was a fleshy wave permanently cresting on her face, she had to speak through it when she talked.

She broke my heart, so now I have to write about her forever. It made everything different. It's something that can only happen once.

She wouldn't have sex with me in public bathrooms. Little things like this haunted me. I was only twenty-five.

Meanness always shows on people's faces. Sometimes you have to look hard for it. Sometimes it's just a part of a person's features" -Valencia

The melon of Castile is for self abuse. The melon of Valencia for eating.

So I kept talking because nothing gets me going like knowing I should shut up. Oh, I should be quiet and full of potential like all those still flowers, but I know I am a weed and I've got to blow my seeds around the garden.

And Barcelona. You should see Barcelona.” “How is it?” “It is all still comic opera. First it was the paradise of the crackpots and the romantic revolutionists. Now it is the paradise of the fake soldier. The soldiers who like to wear uniforms, who like to strut and swagger and wear red-and-black scarves. Who like everything about war except to fight. Valencia makes you sick and Barcelona makes you laugh.

Valencia. City by the sea, birthplace of her favorite painter, Sorolla. Hotel guests speak of Valencia’s tranquil beauty, fragrant orange trees, and rolling blue waters. What does a large body of water sound and smell like? Ana wonders. Landlocked, fenced by circumstance, she has never seen the sea. She sees Spain only through images on postcards that guests collect in their rooms. If she transfers to the hotel business office, perhaps one day she too will walk along the beach in Valencia.

Will is the pimp of appetite.

Billy didn't want to marry ugly Valencia. She was one of the symptoms of his disease. He knew he was going crazy, when he heard himself proposing marriage to her., when he begged her to take the diamond ring and be his companion for life.

Valencia gave Osh a once-over and smirked. I wanted to tell him Osh only looked like a kid, but he’d find that out soon enough. Osh was on him so fast, he was impossible to see. He pinned him against a wall, then lowered his mouth onto the

The worst thing about depression is how true your vision seems, like misery is the only correct perspective and everything you think when you’re happy is a sham. I didn’t even want to be happy anymore because I’d rather live in honest misery than fake bliss. I

I felt pure the way you feel after you vomit, kind of light and strangely holy, like having taken a sauna in hell.

Mrs. Valentine tries to find joy in little things, since most of the bigger things are getting too heavy and slippery for her to hold on to.

Time had never done anything but crawl for Valencia; it had never even walked before (she had, at points, wondered if it had lain down and died).

Everyone has ulterior motives. When an evil person has ulterior motives, it’s called scheming. When a good person has ulterior motives, it’s called planning. Mrs. Valentine is planning.

There’s always manipulation,” Valencia replied. “When you’re in a position of power over someone else, I think it’s inescapable that your actions are tainted by that power. The best you can do is to pretend that power doesn’t exist, and to hope that they trust you enough to do the same, because then things can proceed as they normally would.

I’m going to lose weight for you,” she [Valencia Merble] said. “What?” “I’m going to go on a diet. I’m going to become beautiful for you.” “I like you just the way you are.” “Do you really?” “Really,” said Billy Pilgrim. He had already seen a lot of their marriage, thanks to time-travel, and knew that it was going to be at least bearable all the way.

To have someone know you so thoroughly and not want you. Is there anything more painful?

She didn’t have enough friends to be a bad one herself.

Billy made a noise like a small, rusty hinge. He had just emptied his seminal vesicles into Valencia, had contributed his share of the Green Beret. According to the Tralfamadorians, of course, the Green Beret would have seven parents in all.

Do you know how much of my life I spent waiting for something terrible to happen? I was obsessed with it, consumed by it I spent every moment dreading it--and all of a sudden, here it was, and it was every bit as awful as I'd imagined it would be And then . . . life went on. I realized then how pointless and powerless fear is . . . .

I wanted her so badly, my heart hung out of my chest like some hound-dog's tongue, pant, pant.

Our lives make awesome stories, especially if you don't get too attached to the thread of your own narrative.

Melancholy was a fleshy wave permanently cresting on her face, she had to speak through it when she talked.

Everything should resolve. Maybe art was people’s way of making up for life, which never resolved.

I winked back, because I didn’t know what else to do. It felt very strange. I decided not to wink at anyone ever again.

People always enjoy their own ideas more than yours.

Rain is one of the most ambiguous states of nature. Each person interprets it in his own way and revives it in a unique manner.

Wake up, breathe joy, inhale life in bloom.

A song can be sad and beautiful at the same time. Life too.

Grace was the irrational one, but maybe irrational thought was the key to sanity. Maybe you had to choose one or the other.

She was not—had never been—the kind of person who needed constant, stupid amounts of attention, but everyone needed a little of it.

This was a drastic leap in logic, but Valencia was very good at this kind of leaping; it was her only claim to athleticism.

I knew what I stood for, even if nobody else did. I knew the piece of me on the inside, truer than all the rest, that never comes out. Doesn't everyone have one? Some kind of grand inner princess waiting to toss her hair down, forever waiting at the tower window. Some jungle animal so noble and fierce you had to crawl on your belly through dangerous grasses to get a glimpse.

Valencia’s men scrambled to help their boss, but Reyes had been chomping at the bit long enough. He let loose. Got into a couple of fistfights for the fun of it before snapping necks one by one. They didn’t know what hit them. Then again, their deaths were merciful compared to what they did to their victims. Their eternal damnations following death, however, would be another story. I

Debt: the meaning of life—not just her life, everyone’s. Accumulating it and then paying it off—or, in the case of some religions, working it off, and in others, having someone else pay it off for you.

But in real life you go around thinking that everything good is going to last forever, and it takes you by surprise when it doesn’t. And when you suddenly realize that it has happened for the last time, it’s too late.

Debt: the meaning of life—not just her life, everyone’s. Accumulating it and then paying it off—or, in the case of some religions, working it off, and in others, having someone else pay it off for you. It was all about debt.

Billy didn't want to marry ugly Valencia. She was one of the symptoms of his disease. He knew he was going crazy when he heard himself proposing marriage to her, when he begged her to take the diamond ring and be his companion for life.

He said, 'What do you want?' All I could think of was peeling the skin of a Valencia orange in bed on a bright morning with someone pulling me into the covers because they want to spend two or three minutes nestling before starting their day. So I said, 'Not much'.

I'd never really believed in terrorists before--I mean, I knew that in the abstract there were terrorists somewhere in the world, but they didn't really represent any risk to me. There were millions of ways that the world could kill me--starting with getting run down by a drunk burning his way down Valencia--that were infinitely more likely and immediate than terrorists. Terrorists kill a lot fewer people than bathroom falls and accidental electrocutions. Worrying about them always struck me as about as useful as worrying about getting hit by lightning.

This mouth had kissed me so much it had worn its own grooves into my teeth. It was like settling into the armchair that fit exactly the round of your body, only it was incredibly exciting because everything was different now, and it was horribly wrong to be kissing. It would only prolong everything. I sat there in the bus shelter, back up against the glass, hoping the bug would never come. Desperation is the sexiest emotion.

Otra vez aparecí con alarmada prisa en Valencia, en ansia de distanciarme de seres desconocidos que parecían tener la desaforada y perjudicial aspiración de matarme, lo que, dado el pacífico carácter de mis relaciones con la sociedad, me pareció una exageración que había que evitar a toda costa.

You will be happy for Doogie, who, after conquering a twenty-year Valium addiction, now spends his days working with Dr. Drew on Celebrity Rehab, and his nights kicking back in the mansion in Valencia he bought with the proceeds of his successful XXX-rated series, Do Me Now Sir, DP: Volumes 1-35.

That’s when Rob Valencia’s head explodes. Literally explodes. Blood and brains all over me, the walls. Blood all over the Bunnies and their whimpering boys. Bits of skull falling on the hardwood floor like hail. His headless, suited body remains standing before me. Then it collapses to the floor.

Be not afraid of what is inside of you. What is inside is who you are. Do not worry about what is on the outside cause that changes with life and aging. Your soul is reflected not by age or looks Nor by your status or everyday life It is reflected in your ulterior motives, the real reason you do what you do.

Why were we tortured? We were in love and life was a fast current swarming around our ankles, threatening to topple us into the wet part of the planet. It was intense, that's why we were tortured. It was enormous and exploding like palm tree. Iris was my Yuri-G, my Delilah, my Stella Marie. Strong dark women you had to love with a strong dark heart that throbbed in gorgeous pain because love is terrible. I mean, ultimately. It would go away like a needle lifting from the vinyl at the end of the song, we knew this. The music would cease, one of us would die or else we'd just break up, and this drove us to drink from each other like two twelve-year-olds sneaking vodka from the liquor cabinet, trying to get it all down, trying to get as fucked up as possible before we got caught.

She didn’t want him to think she was rude and realized she should say something, like someone who wasn’t rude would. Like a normal person would. Was this terribly deceitful of her, to pretend to be normal? She tried to think of what polite, normal people said. What do normal people say? What do I say normally? Do I normally say things?

I have consumed more punch. I have forgotten that I am a twenty-five-year-old woman. The heart Rob Valencia holds in his hand is a seventeen-year-old heart, warped and badly drawn with purple ink. It is Samantha Heather Mackey’s seventeen-year-old idea of her heart. And it has Rob Valencia’s name drawn inside in jagged, bleedy letters.

Take God's word literally for what is written - nothing less or nothing more.

Maybe the simple act of being alive doesn’t seem all that important until it stops feeling involuntary and starts feeling like something you have to work at.

I kissed her hand. My seduction technique is best filed under Obvious.

She was magnificent. She wasn't so much a person as an event, a gigantic presence.

I don't mind doing awful things as long as somebody else does. I would totally jump off the bridge, thanks for asking.

The girls Iris went through wound up cracked vases no longer fit for flowers, leaky dust collectors. After Iris, girls left town or started fucking boys. She ruined everyone.

She was just so sad. Her whole face hung with it, like sadness was her personal gravity.

A writer is like a gossiper who reveal secrets in a professional way.

Don't let anger consume you if you're longing for true love.

He didn’t understand that her compulsions were not cute, that they consumed her.

What good is going anywhere if you can’t find joy in staying still first, right?

The combination of caffeine and conversation could actually be the death of her.

Was it possible to get so tense that your body wouldn’t be able to take any more air in? Could she suffocate trying to relax?

She has a recording of a favorite piano piece that she lets play on repeat day and night—Rachmaninoff’s Étude-Tableau in G Minor.

Why was the world so ugly and unknowable?

When you are old, you realize that rules about this kind of thing are ridiculous. You can be relatives with whomever you want. Blood is irrelevant.

Now she was just alone, and being alone after not being alone was much worse than being alone before not being alone.

Sometimes she feels like she’s two people in one: a stubborn child and its harried mother.

It feels eccentric, but this makes her happy—someone once told her that eccentric people live longer than everyone else.

This was a problem she kept encountering as she got to know people—they kept wanting to know her back.

HERE IS HOW Billy Pilgrim lost his wife, Valencia. He was unconscious in the hospital in Vermont, after the airplane crashed on Sugarbush Mountain, and Valencia, having heard about the crash, was driving from Ilium to the hospital in the family Cadillac El Dorado Coupe de Ville. Valencia was hysterical, because she had been told frankly that Billy might die,

Living in the same city as Microsoft, I’m only too aware that, even in low-technology businesses like coffee, the Next Big Thing could knock the dominant player into second place tomorrow. I keep pushing to make sure that Starbucks thinks of the Next Big Thing before it has even crossed anybody else’s mind. In fact, Don Valencia is working on it even as I’m writing this book.

I am not afraid, and I have never been. Even when my physical being is in danger My soul fears not. You can mangle my body, break my heart I am relentless, running free like a brook till my soul find the sea.

One of these days...when I am brave enough. I will take you on a journey... I will tell you about my life. My past, my present, my future. My reasons for being and my being for a reason... My attempts to be me and my me to be attempts... My courage in the face of danger, and my danger in the face of courage... Let me gather my wit, my wit to gather... so I can tell you my story...my story can you tell? Sonia Valencia Singh 11/27/13

Hitherto, Jack had been too busy working up his crew to pay much attention to the education of his midshipmen, but he had looked at yesterday's slips and they, with a very suspicious unanimity, had shown the Sophie in 39°2I'N, which was fair enough, but also in a longitude that she could only have reached by cleaving the mountain-range behind Valencia to a depth of thirty-seven miles. 'What do you mean by sending me this nonsense?' he asked them. It was not really an answerable question; nor were many of the others that he propounded, and they did not, in fact, attempt to answer them; but they agreed that they were not there to amuse themselves, nor for their manly beauty, but rather to learn their professions; that their journals (which they fetched) were neither accurate, full, nor up to date, and that the ship's cat would have written them better; that they would for the future pay the greatest attention to Mr Marshall's observation and reckoning; that they would prick the chart daily with him; and that no man was fit to pass for a lieutenant, let alone bear any command ('May God forgive me,' said Jack, in an internal aside) who could not instantly tell the position of his ship to within a minute – nay, to within thirty seconds. Furthermore, they would show up their journals every Sunday, cleanly and legibly written.

Years of emotions unfurled, and like a river breaking its banks, she responded with a flood of emotions. Their kiss went on and on, and she was oblivious of everything else except his lips, and his hand pinning her body against him. Passion she never knew she had, never thought possible, flooded her body as she melted against him. And she wanted to be free, to feel these emotions for the rest of her life, to be loved and cherished, to wake up in his arms.

The same way you’d get wrinkles on your face from making the same facial expression over and over, she thought, you could probably get wrinkles on your brain from thinking the same thoughts and feeling the same feelings over and over.

At the end of a few weeks’ solitude, Laurence ran into Serafina, his ex-girlfriend, and got roped into going to dinner with her. At least she wouldn’t ask what happened in Denver. They went to a cavernous tapas place that was still hanging in there at 16th and Valencia, though its prices had gone way up. Laurence drank too much sangria and looked into Serafina’s candle-lit face, her cheekbones thrown into relief, and he found himself saying, “You know, you’ll always be the one who got away.

The changes which the destruction of forests, the clearing of plants and the cultivation of indigo have produced within half a century in the quantity of water flowing in on the one hand, and on the other the evaporation of the soil and the dryness of the atmosphere, present causes sufficiently powerful to explain the successive diminution of the lake of Valencia . . . By felling the trees that cover the tops and sides of mountains, men in every climate prepare at once two calamities for future generations, the want of fuel and the scarcity of water.

Hi ha ciutats secundàries que ja no són les ames del seu destí però amaguen en els seus carrers el tresor d’un gegant vençut. València és una d’elles. Amb el pas del temps el desdeny propi i alié les reduïx a tòpic. El tòpic preval com a mantra i sosté interpretacions fal·laces. Hi ha una resposta majoritària, la de propagar frases fetes. Era i és tan comú que mai va ser la meua. Les ruïnes no eren un decorat de ficció. El veïnat fugia, callava, mirava cap a un altre costat. Contràriament, les pedres exhalaven l’empremta d’una derrota per incompareixença.

If you are a dreaming woman you are at the beginning of the web of creation. This web is extremely elastic, like a spider web. The old stories describe the web like this: When Cloud-Dreaming Woman's daughter Spider Woman created this earth, it was left to her daughters to carry on the endless dream weaving. But Spider Woman started things. She dreamed and spun out the things of this world. She did not know she was dream weaving; only that she was dreaming ... something. So she gave birth to the ugly right along with the beautiful, the sweet natured and the misanthrope, the frog and the smooth-cheeked prince, atomic bombs and telephones along with every plant ad chemical to cure or kill. If you are a dreaming woman, however, you know you and your sisters are together making this world. - Queen of Dreams The Story of A Yaqui Dreaming Woman

(That’s how it is when you’re in your thirties; birthdays aren’t important anymore because everyone has gotten over the initial excitement of your basic existence. You’re old news. But there’s this nostalgic part of you that still remembers—maybe longs for—a time when people were excited.)

What fears you, that you are unable to see the kindness in a stranger's smile, to feel the tenderness in a lovers touch, and the loyalty in an animal's eye. Not everyone was put here to destroy you and pull your life asunder...be at peace and dispel your fears, because by feeding them they only grow bigger.

Maggie was ready for him. And with one hand holding himself up, he gently pushed the crotch of her panties to the side, and as he eased inside her, he took both her hands and held them in his, above her head, resting on the sand. Andhe kissed her. There was no urgency on his part, no movement, and as he explored her lips Maggie felt her loins throb around him. He fitted her perfectly. A moan escaped her lips and as he lowered himself completely Maggie felt the entire length of him fill her up and she exploded. She was calling his name and as she clung to him, he moved his hips into her, until she was completely spent.

Aquella deixadesa institucionalitzada era la bandera de les classes populars, la seua absència de gust pel debat, la criminalització de tot discurs crític i intel·lectual. Aquella aversió no permetia aprofundir ni per descomptat alimentar detalls metafísics que sostingueren la ciutat en un nivell hermenèuticament superior. Tot pegava voltes als tòpics: l’himne, la paella, les falles, la ressaca del conflicte idiomàtic, la misèria moral que emanava de les restes del franquisme. La València literària era una mòmia dissecada, un manual de trinxeres. La il·lustració havia passat de puntetes per davant dels nostres nassos, deixant-nos una ciutat arrasada i servil que es delectava en el seu espill; una ciutat cegada per la llum, la força de les aparences, l’instint de felicitat gregària. Al final aplegava a una conclusió: aquella màscara era una altra variant suïcida de la melancolia.

Fue allí, en el lago Valencia, donde Humboldt desarrolló su idea del cambio climático provocado por el ser humano. Cuando publicó sus notas, no dejó duda alguna sobre lo que pensaba: "Cuando los bosques se destruyen, como han hecho los cultivadores europeos en toda América, con una precipitación imprudente, los manantiales se secan por completo o se vuelven menos abundantes. Los lechos de los ríos, que permanecen secos durante parte del año, se convierten en torrentes cada vez que caen fuertes lluvias en las cumbres. La hierba y el musgo desaparecen de las laderas de las montañas con la maleza, entonces el agua lluvia ya no encuentra ningún obstáculo en su camino: y en vez de aumentar poco a poco el nivel de los ríos mediante filtraciones graduales, durante las lluvias abundantes forma surcos en las laderas, arrastra la tierra suelta y forma esas inundaciones repentinas que destruyen el país.

She’d always cared too much about the opinions of others. She had considered that this aching need to be liked made people like her less, that it would be stifling and repulsive to those she came in contact with, so she tried not to care so much—like a drowning person trying not to swallow so much water, as though trying would override the body’s natural instinct to gasp for air. It was a cycle that left her lungs full of water they couldn’t use and unable to take anything good in.

It's so beautiful,” she whispers, face tilted up toward the domed ceiling and walls covered in the fractured rainbows. “Do you think they knew?” She finally tears her gaze away, just enough to look up at me. “Knew what beauty was?” My heart's slamming against my chest, and it's not just that I'm holding her in my arms again, that I'm gazing down at her, her mouth only a breath from mine. It's that in this instant, she's me, back in Valencia. Opening herself to exploration. To curiosity. It's not just that for a moment she's sharing in my thrill of discovery. She's experiencing it. She understands. As she reaches out across the millennia to the Undying, to wonder if they knew what beauty was, to wonder why they created something so delicate and perfect, she's opening her mind to all the possibilities they represent. She's communicating with them, by picking up the stories they left behind and adding her own words, asking her own questions. This is what I do – what exploration and archeology is – and in this moment, Mia's in it with me.

You are so beautiful, I must be the envy of every man in this room,” he said. She smiled warmly at his compliment; it was so long since someone that she actually liked had told her she was beautiful. She felt empowered, and very feminine. She never felt this way around Mark. She thought how wonderful it would be to wake up each morning with someone who made her feel this way. And again she chided herself for her thoughts. It was so easy to forget she deserved much more, she wanted today to be different,“just this once” she thought.

Desde hace varias décadas es evidente que el feminismo no es uno, sino que en su composición puede ser comparado con una gota de mercurio que estalla y se pluraliza, pero que guarda dentro de sí una composición que le permite multiplicarse, separarse y volver a unirse por medio de alianzas; al ser un movimiento que se rige por la crítica contra la opresión y la violencia ejercida por el sistema hegemónico y (hetero)patriarcal, es imposible que el discurso feminista se sustraiga de teorizar y actuar sobre las dinámicas del capitalismo gore.

He reached over and pulled her to him, and she didn't stiffen but relaxed in the hug as his arms encircled her small waist. The hug lingered, without either of them speaking. Maggie felt emotions she wasn't used to feeling, and they were so overwhelming. Her senses clamored and, as she struggled to make sense of her emotions, the breaking of dawn could not have been more obvious for Maggie. She realized with such certainty, that she felt safe. Without stopping herself, she laid her head where it met his chest, right next to his heart, her whole being venting, and so they stood frozen in time like a statue, till the moment was broken by someone clearing their throat.

Grabbing my hair and pulling it to the point my skull throbs, I rock back and forth while insanity threatens to destroy my mind completely. Father finally did what Lachlan started. Destroyed my spirit. The angel is gone. The monster has come and killed her. Lachlan Sipping his whiskey, Shon gazes with a bored expression at the one-way mirror as Arson lights the match, grazing the skin of his victim with it as the man convulses in fear. “Show off,” he mutters, and on instinct, I slap the back of his head. He rubs it, spilling the drink. “The fuck? We are wasting time, Lachlan. Tell him to speed up. You know if you let him, he can play for hours.” All in good time, we don’t need just a name. He is saving him for a different kind of information that we write down as Sociopath types furiously on his computer, searching for the location and everything else using FBI databases. “Bingo!” Sociopath mutters, picking up the laptop and showing the screen to me. “It’s seven hours away from New York, in a deserted location in the woods. The land belongs to some guy who is presumed dead and the man accrued the right to build shelters for abused women. They actually live there as a place of new hope or something.” Indeed, the center is advertised as such and has a bunch of stupid reviews about it. Even the approval of a social worker, but then it doesn’t surprise me. Pastor knows how to be convincing. “Kids,” I mutter, fisting my hands. “Most of them probably have kids. He continues to do his fucked-up shit.” And all these years, he has been under my radar. I throw the chair and it bounces off the wall, but no one says anything as they feel the same. “Shon, order a plane. Jaxon—” “Yeah, my brothers will be there with us. But listen, the FBI—” he starts, and I nod. He takes a beat and quickly sends a message to someone on his phone while I bark into the microphone. “Arson, enough with the bullshit. Kill him already.” He is of no use to us anyway. Arson looks at the wall and shrugs. Then pours gas on his victim and lights up the match simultaneously, stepping aside as the man screams and thrashes on the chair, and the smell of burning flesh can be sensed even here. Arson jogs to a hose, splashing water over him. The room is designed security wise for this kind of torture, since fire is one of the first things I taught. After all, I’d learned the hard way how to fight with it. “On the plane, we can adjust the plan. Let’s get moving.” They spring into action as I go to my room to get a specific folder to give to Levi before I go, when Sociopath’s hand stops me, bumping my shoulder. “Is this a suicide mission for you?” he asks, and I smile, although it lacks any humor. My friend knows everything. Instead of answering his question, I grip his shoulder tight, and confide, “Valencia is entrusted to you.” We both know that if I want to destroy Pastor, I have to die with him. This revenge has been twenty-three years in the making, and I never envisioned a different future. This path always leads to death one way or another, and the only reason I valued my life was because I had to kill him. Valencia will be forever free from the evils that destroyed her life. I’ll make sure of it. Once upon a time, there was an angel. Who made the monster’s heart bleed.

This is a sparkling wine produced in Spain through the traditional method, or secondary fermentation in the bottle. This sparkler is produced in specific areas of Spain made up of several regions: 63 municipalities in the province of Barcelona; 52 from Tarragona; 12 in Lleida; 5 in Girona; 18 from Rioja; as well as other municipalities from Álava, Badajoz, Navarra, Valencia and Zaragoza. In order to produce a cava, local and exported grape varieties are used. White varieties include: Macabeo (Viura), Xarel-lo, Parellada, Subirat (Malvasía Riojana) and Chardonnay. Red varieties include: Red Grenache, Monastrell, Trepat and Pinot Noir. The main cava producing region is Catalonia. When you refer to the cava with its corresponding article, it usually makes reference to the cellar where the wine has been aged.