𝚂𝚒𝚗 𝚍𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚊 𝚖𝚒𝚛𝚘 𝚊𝚕 𝚝𝚎𝚌𝚑𝚘, 𝚢 𝚊 𝚌𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚘𝚜 𝚍𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝í𝚌𝚞𝚕𝚊𝚜 𝚊𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚜𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚘 𝚕𝚘𝚜 𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚛𝚘𝚜 𝚛𝚊𝚢𝚘𝚜 𝚍𝚎𝚕 𝚂𝚘𝚕. ¡𝙲𝚘ñ𝚘, 𝚢𝚊 𝚎𝚜 𝚍𝚎 𝚖𝚊ñ𝚊𝚗𝚊!𝙴𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚢 𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚍𝚘, 𝚎𝚗 𝚎𝚕 𝚜𝚞𝚎𝚕𝚘, 𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚘. 𝚈 𝚎𝚕 𝚜𝚘𝚕 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚎𝚜𝚘 𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚊 𝚙𝚘𝚛 𝚞𝚗𝚊 𝚙𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎ñ𝚊 𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚊. 𝙻𝚊 𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚊 𝚍𝚎 𝚖𝚒 𝚋𝚊ñ𝚘. 𝙻𝚊 𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚊 𝚍𝚎 𝚖𝚒 𝚜𝚊𝚕ó𝚗 𝚍𝚎 𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚜. ¡𝚄𝚏𝚏, 𝚟𝚊𝚢𝚊 𝚗𝚘𝚌𝚑𝚎!𝙼𝚒𝚛𝚘 𝚖𝚒 𝚌𝚞𝚎𝚛𝚙𝚘, 𝚢 𝚘𝚝𝚛𝚊 𝚟𝚎𝚣 𝚖𝚒𝚛𝚘 𝚊𝚕 𝚝𝚎𝚌𝚑𝚘, 𝚕𝚒𝚋𝚛𝚎, 𝚢 𝚌𝚘𝚗 𝚞𝚗 𝚜𝚞𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚘 𝚕𝚘 𝚍𝚎𝚖𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚘.
𝙱𝚊𝚓𝚘 𝚕𝚊 𝚖𝚒𝚛𝚊𝚍𝚊 𝚑𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚊 𝚕𝚊 𝚋𝚊ñ𝚎𝚛𝚊. 𝙰𝚕𝚕í 𝚟𝚎𝚘 𝚊 𝚖𝚒 𝚊𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚎, 𝚊𝚕𝚕í 𝚟𝚎𝚘 𝚊𝚕 𝚊𝚖𝚘𝚛 𝚍𝚎 𝚖𝚒 𝚟𝚒𝚍𝚊. 𝙳𝚎𝚜𝚖𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚍𝚊, 𝚌𝚘𝚗 𝚞𝚗 𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚐𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚎, 𝚌𝚘𝚗 𝚞𝚗 𝚟𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚍𝚘 𝚊𝚣𝚞𝚕 𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚘 𝚑𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚊 𝚜𝚞𝚜 𝚖𝚞𝚜𝚕𝚘𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚓𝚊𝚍𝚘𝚜 𝚎𝚗 𝚜𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚛𝚎. 𝙻𝚊 𝚟𝚎𝚘 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚕𝚊, 𝚍𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚒𝚊𝚍𝚘 𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚖𝚊𝚍𝚊 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚊 𝚊𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚛 𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛 𝚟𝚒𝚟𝚊. ¿𝚂𝚎𝚛á 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚗𝚘𝚜 𝚎𝚡𝚌𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚖𝚘𝚜? 𝚈𝚊 𝚚𝚞𝚎, 𝚏𝚞𝚎 𝚞𝚗𝚊 𝚗𝚘𝚌𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚊. 𝙲𝚘𝚗 𝚖𝚒𝚜 𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚘 𝚖𝚒 𝚌𝚞𝚎𝚛𝚙𝚘, 𝚕𝚘𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚘 𝚜𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚜𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚎𝚛 𝚎𝚜𝚘𝚜 𝚙𝚒𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚎𝚜 𝚖𝚊ñ𝚊𝚗𝚎𝚛𝚘𝚜. 𝙰𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚒𝚘 𝚖𝚒 𝚗𝚞𝚌𝚊 𝚢 𝚖𝚎 𝚙𝚒𝚌𝚘 𝚕𝚘𝚜 𝚘𝚓𝚘𝚜, 𝚕𝚊 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚊, 𝚖𝚒𝚜 𝚑𝚘𝚖𝚋𝚛𝚘𝚜. 𝙷𝚘𝚢 𝚖𝚎 𝚙𝚒𝚌𝚊 𝚝𝚘𝚍𝚘. 𝙼𝚎 𝚕𝚎𝚟𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚒𝚗 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚐𝚊𝚛 𝚕𝚊 𝚟𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚊 𝚍𝚎 𝚊𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚊 𝚋𝚊ñ𝚎𝚛𝚊, 𝚌𝚊𝚜𝚒 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚋𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚊𝚍𝚊 𝚍𝚎 𝚊𝚐𝚞𝚊 𝚛𝚘𝚓𝚒𝚣𝚊, 𝚍𝚎 𝚖𝚒 𝚊𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚎, 𝚍𝚎 𝚖𝚒 𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚊 𝚖á𝚜 𝚖𝚞𝚎𝚛𝚝𝚊 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚟𝚒𝚟𝚊. 𝙼𝚎 𝚖𝚒𝚛𝚘 𝚊𝚕 𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚓𝚘, 𝚢 𝚜𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚊𝚑𝚘𝚛𝚊 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚘 𝚕𝚊 𝚜𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚛𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚎 𝚖𝚒 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚊. 𝙰𝚑𝚘𝚛𝚊 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚖𝚎 𝚟𝚎𝚘, 𝚖𝚎 𝚜𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚊𝚜𝚏𝚒𝚡𝚒𝚊𝚍𝚘, 𝚜𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚒 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚊 𝚙𝚎𝚜𝚊𝚍𝚊, 𝚕𝚊 𝚜𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚛𝚎 𝚐𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚊, 𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚌𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚛𝚊, 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚘 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚊. 𝙻𝚊 𝚑𝚞𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚊 𝚍𝚎 𝚌𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚘𝚜 𝚍𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚍𝚘𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚊𝚗 𝚎𝚗 𝚖𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚊𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚝𝚎𝚜, 𝚍𝚎𝚍𝚘𝚜 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚍𝚒𝚎𝚛𝚘𝚗 𝚐𝚞𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚊, 𝚍𝚎𝚍𝚘𝚜 𝚎𝚡𝚌𝚒𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚜 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚗 𝚎𝚕 𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚘, 𝚎𝚗 𝚞𝚗𝚊 𝚟𝚎𝚕𝚊𝚍𝚊 𝚛𝚘𝚖á𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚊.
𝙼𝚒 𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚊 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚊 𝚕𝚊𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚜, 𝚎𝚗 𝚞𝚗 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚎, 𝚕𝚊𝚜 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚊 𝚌𝚘𝚗 𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚣𝚊. 𝚈 𝚊𝚋𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚞𝚜 𝚘𝚓𝚘𝚜 𝚊𝚣𝚞𝚕𝚎𝚜, 𝚊 𝚓𝚞𝚎𝚐𝚘 𝚌𝚘𝚗 𝚜𝚞 𝚟𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚍𝚘 𝚑ú𝚖𝚎𝚍𝚘 𝚢 𝚜𝚊𝚕𝚙𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚍𝚘. "¿𝙰ú𝚗 𝚗𝚘 𝚑𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚜 𝚊𝚌𝚊𝚋𝚊𝚍𝚘?", 𝚖𝚎 𝚌𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚊. 𝙴𝚕 𝚜𝚘𝚕 𝚑𝚊𝚌𝚎 𝚜𝚞 𝚊𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚎, 𝚜𝚞𝚐𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚘 𝚕𝚊 𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚍𝚊 𝚍𝚎 𝚞𝚗 𝚍í𝚊 𝚎𝚡𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚜𝚒𝚝𝚘. 𝙼𝚒𝚛𝚘 𝚕𝚊 𝚙𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎ñ𝚊 𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚊, 𝚊 𝚖𝚒 𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚘 𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚊𝚍𝚘 𝚢 𝚊 𝚖𝚒𝚜 𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚜. 𝙼𝚎 𝚖𝚒𝚛𝚘 𝚌𝚞𝚕𝚙𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚢 𝚎𝚡𝚌𝚒𝚝𝚊𝚍𝚘. 𝙻𝚊 𝚘𝚋𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚘 𝚊 𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚊, 𝚌𝚘𝚗 𝚎𝚜𝚊 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚊 𝚍𝚎 á𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚕, 𝚙í𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚊, 𝚕𝚊 𝚊𝚖𝚘."𝙽𝚘, 𝚗𝚘 𝚑𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚜 𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚍𝚘", 𝚕𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚘. 𝚈 𝚌𝚘𝚗 𝚞𝚗 𝚐𝚘𝚕𝚙𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚘, 𝚌𝚘𝚗 𝚞𝚗 𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚘 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚌𝚕𝚊𝚟𝚊 𝚌𝚛á𝚗𝚎𝚘𝚜 𝚎𝚗 𝚟𝚎𝚣 𝚍𝚎 𝚌𝚕𝚊𝚟𝚘𝚜, 𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚝é 𝚕𝚘𝚜 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚘𝚜 𝚍𝚎 𝚞𝚗𝚊 𝚊𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚌𝚊 𝚢 𝚎𝚗𝚊𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚍𝚊.
𝙻𝚊𝚜 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚍𝚎𝚜 𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚗 𝚜𝚞𝚜 𝚘𝚓𝚘𝚜 𝚎𝚗 𝚗𝚘𝚜𝚘𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚜, 𝚑𝚊𝚌𝚒𝚊 𝚎𝚕 𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚍𝚘, 𝚜𝚞𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚛á𝚗𝚍𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚙𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚌𝚎𝚜. 𝙻𝚊 𝚌𝚊𝚋𝚎𝚣𝚊 𝚖𝚎 𝚍𝚊 𝚟𝚞𝚎𝚕𝚝𝚊𝚜, 𝚖𝚒𝚜 𝚘í𝚍𝚘𝚜 𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚗 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚕𝚘𝚝𝚊𝚛, 𝚢 𝚖𝚒𝚜 𝚙𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚗 𝚎𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚛 𝚊 𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚎𝚛. ¡𝙿𝚘𝚛𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚕𝚊 𝚊𝚖𝚘! 𝙻𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚘 𝚊 𝚕𝚊𝚜 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚍𝚎𝚜, 𝚖𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚘 𝚊 𝚖𝚒 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚖𝚘, 𝚜𝚘𝚕𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚘 𝚖𝚒 𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚘.¡𝙽𝚘 𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚢 𝚕𝚘𝚌𝚘, 𝚜𝚘𝚕𝚊𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎 𝚕𝚊 𝚊𝚖𝚘!
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Ngẫu nhiênA quienes aman, a quienes sueñan, a los jovenes, a los viejos, a la muerte, al tiempo y al destino, este es un libro para todos ustedes
