When the man came home, his wife was crying.
"Your mother insulted me," she sobbed.
"My mother? How could she do that? She's on vacation on the other side of the world!" the man said.
"I know. But this morning a letter addressed to you arrived. I opened it because I was curious."
"And?"
"At the end of the letter she wrote:
PS. Dear Diane, when you have finished reading this letter, don't forget to give it to my son."
“It's a shallow life that doesn't give a person a few scars.”
He couldn't have been over six years old. Dirty face, barefooted, torn T-shirt, matted hair. He wasn't too different from the other hundred thousand or so street orphans that roam Rio de Janeiro.
Poverty exists not because we cannot feed the poor, but because we cannot satisfy the rich.
‘Twas a dangerous cliff, as they freely confessed,