For a week I did not take off my mechanic’s coverall day or night I did not bathe or shave or brush my teeth because love taught me too late that you groom yourself for someone you dress and perfume yourself for someone and I’d never had anyone to do that for.
This was when I heard that the first symptom of old age is when you begin to resemble your father.
One of the most difficult things is the first paragraph. I have spent many months on a first paragraph, and once I get it, the rest just comes out very easily.
The only Virgos left in the world are people like you who were born in August.
All my life, I’ve been frightened at the moment I sit down to write.
If you love something, let it go. If it is yours, it will come back. I love you not because of who you are, but for who I am when I’m with you.
Love does not die, when someone gets old, people get old, because they can not love anymore.
Love becomes greater and nobler in calamity.
Ah, me, if this is love, then how it torments.
I don’t have a method. All I do is read a lot, think a lot, and rewrite constantly. It’s not a scientific thing.
It is impossible to explain. But what I like most is to eat.
The people of the United States are one of the people I most admire in the world. The only thing I don’t understand is why a country that manages to do so well cannot do better in choosing its president.
In her final years she would still recall the trip that, with the perverse lucidity of nostalgia, became more and more recent in her memory.
From the moment I wrote ‘Leaf Storm’ I realized I wanted to be a writer and that nobody could stop me and that the only thing left for me to do was to try to be the best writer in the world.
Horses frighten me as much as chickens do,’ he said. ‘That is too bad, because lack of communication with horses has impeded human progress,’ said Abrenuncio. ‘If we ever broke down the barriers, we could produce the centaur.
One had to live a long time to know a man’s true nature.
Necessity has the face of a dog.
We’ll grow old waiting.
Her heart of compressed ash, which had resisted the most telling blows of daily reality without strain, fell apart with the first waves of nostalgia.
The more transparent the writing, the more visible the poetry.