People only disappear when they have somewhere to go
God gives us life, but the world's landlord is the devil.
I swim against the tide because I like to annoy.
If only everything hurt as little as a blow to the face.
The nurse knew that those who really love, love in silence, with deeds and not with words.
Resentment slowly poisoned my blood and I laughed at myself and my absurd hopes.
The truth is what hurts
She was seventeen, her entire life shining on her lips.
Barcelona is a very old city in which you can feel the weight of history; it is haunted by history. You cannot walk around it without perceiving it. In Los Angeles, it is quite the opposite: it is an older city than it might seem to be, but you don't perceive this -- every day you get out of your home, you are driving somewhere and sometimes you get this impression that everything was put there the night before.
The wider the author's arsenal of tools and the better technically equipped the storyteller is, the better the tale will be.
After a while it occurred to me that between the covers of each of those books lay a boundless universe waiting to be discovered while beyond those walls, in the outside world, people allowed life to pass by in afternoons of football and radio soaps, content to do little more than gaze at their navels.
If you really want to possess a woman, you must think like her, and the first thing to do is win over her soul. The rest, that sweet, soft wrapping that steals away your senses and your virtue, is a bonus.
The greatest multiplex in the universe is inside your mind, and the only ticket you need is a good, well-written novel.
Thunder and lightning, it's like the end of the world.
I turned you into a stranger in order to forget you and now I'm the stranger.
That's what happens when people reach old age; nobody remembers they've been bastards too.
I couldn't help thinking that if I, by pure chance, had found a whole universe in a single unknown book, buried in that endless necropolis, tens of thousands more would remain unexplored, forgotten forever. I felt myself surrounded by millions of abandoned pages, by worlds and souls without an owner sinking in an ocean of darkness, while the world that throbbed outside the library seemed to be losing its memory, day after day, unknowingly, feeling all the wiser the more it forgot.
Death does that: it makes everyone feel sentimental. When we stand in front of a coffin, we all see only what is good or what we want to see.
The most despicable humans are the ones who always feel virtuous and look down on the rest of the world.
I was always fascinated by the fact that you could take paper and ink and create worlds, images, characters. It seemed like magic.
I'm not talking to anyone, I'm delivering a monologue. It's the inebriated man's prerogative.
All I know is that once Julián told the kids in the building that he had a sister only he could see. He said she came out of mirrors as if she were made of thin air and that she lived with Satan himself in a palace at the bottom of a lake.
One of my ambitions has been to go back to what those great authors were doing then ... to bridge that sensibility of old Victorian Gothic tales and reconstruct them in a modern way.
That book taught me that by reading, I could live more intensely. It could give me back the sight I had lost. For that reason alone, a book that didn't matter to anyone changed my life.
Los Angeles is one of those places where somebodies become nobodies and nobodies become somebody.
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