Translation:

Almost all of us are capable of “querer,” but few know how to love. They are, indeed, two different things.

Love can be represented by (natural) light, the heavens, the never-ending sea. Love is total fulfillment of glory and peace.

“Querer” does not go beyond making love to someone over a short amount of time and for mere fulfillment of carnal desires; there’s biting instead of kissing, scratching instead of caressing.

He who loves seeks to serve the woman he loves, always giving her his all, never a hesitation to place his own life aside.

A man who “quiere” seeks to experience a moderate amount of joy so that when his relationship ends he’s able to move on with ease, thus, averting pain.

In summary, whereas “querer” can result in short-lasting joy, love is the fulfillment of all things good… with the strong potential to bring a man to his doom.

Translation:

Go on. Don’t make him wait. After all, you and I are only friends. Don’t hesitate, but do pray you feel with him what you once felt with me. With me you used to fly around the world riding a white horse. When asking me for a kiss, I vividly remember how you used to cry tears of joy upon receiving it, and that’s not something you’ll experience elsewhere. But go on… waste your time… look for something you already had with me.

Translation:

She has changed. She has become distracted and indifferent toward me. I no longer feel her warmth, and she’s uneasy when I hold her. Many have been the times that I’ve perceived a hesitation when she tries calling my name. If I look her in the eyes, she turns away, perhaps afraid that her eyes will incriminate her. Is another man getting her love and attention? Who could be that man, destroyer of my dreams? Is it possible that he offered her more love than that she had with me?

Translation:

No other love comes close to ours. You sleep with me every night. You remain quiet throughout the night, never reproaching me for anything. It’s one of the reasons why you’re my dearest treasure.

Sometimes I come home drunk, brought to this point by my anguish state. I cover you with kisses as I caress you, but because you’re asleep, you don’t feel a thing. I bring you closer to me, to then fall asleep with you in my arms. I suddenly wake up and realize it’s not you I’ve been giving my love to… it’s my pillow.

I keep my pain to myself, as most people do. Sometimes I feel the urge to scream and beg you to return, or simply scream to let everyone know that I’m alive with no other purpose than to love you. Then I remember that time eases all pain; that just as is the case with words, sorrow is carried away by the wind. But as long as the wind fails to carry away mine, I’ll continue to come home drunk, and proceed to give all my love to my pillow…

Translation:

Wait. Let’s not throw everything away. For yesterday’s happiness, and for the sake of our love — albeit now defunct — I beg you to wait. There is still an infinite number of caresses left for me to give. If you’re not to receive them, they’d die in my hands.

Wait just a bit. I have much more to offer you than what you’ve already received. I have a thousand magical nights still left to live, and I want to spend all of them with you. If it’s my life you want in exchange for staying, yours it is. After all, what would be the point of living if it’s not to be with you?