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: You have a kid? William
: Yeah? Maria
: Chico or chica? William
: Chico. Maria
: I bet he's special. William
: He *is* special. Maria
: Everybody's children are so special. It makes you wonder where all the ordinary grown-ups come from.
: I miss you.
: If we had enough information, we could predict the consequences of our actions. Would you want to know? If you kissed that girl, if you talked to that man, if you take that job, or marry that woman, or steal that papel? If we knew what would happen in the end, would we ever be able to take the first step, to make the first move?
: If we are frightened, we run. It's our instinct. Adrenaline pumps round the body. The muscles contract. Our heart beats faster. And we run. We run for our lives, we run for safety, for our home, our families, our loved ones.
: Make love to me. Make me make love to you.
: [to William
] You know, one of my fingers is younger than the others.
: I think about the day we met. I suppose you arrived par avion. Maybe you were the first to get to security. You didn't intend to stay. You only had 24-hour cover, so luggage was a mano. And they probably had a driver waiting, so you didn't need to find un coche. You'd never been to Shanghai before. It was all new to you.
: Can you miss someone you don't remember? Can one moment or experience ever disappear completely, or does it always exist somewhere, waiting to be discovered?
: Lo siento. Maria
: "Lo siento... Lo siento." You say that too much.