Estas largas separaciones son peligrosas, el amor resbala por arenas inciertas.
An invisible border arose between the parts of the house occupied by Esteban Trueba and those occupied by his wife. In response to Clara’s imagination and the requirements of the moment, the noble, seigniorial architecture began sprouting all sorts of extra little rooms, staircases, turrets, and terraces... the big house on the corner soon came to resemble a labyrinth.
The wise man desires nothing; he does not judge, he makes no plans, he keeps his mind open and his.
And that fox escaped with his tail between his legs, with all of the hens chasing after him.
She awoke from a long childhood in which she had always been protected and surrounded by attention and comforts, with no responsibilities.
Time moves so slowly. Or perhaps it doesn’t move at all and it is we who pass through it.
I called him Grandfather, because according to him you do not have to be of the same blood or same tribe to be a member of the same family, but in truth I should have called him Maman. He was the only mother I ever knew.
I am frightened. I have known fear before, but there was always an escape; even during the terror of the military coup there was the salvation of exile. Now I am in a blind alley with all doors closed to hope, and I don’t know how to handle so much fear.
El espectro de la pobreza, como el de la soledad, rondaba siempre a los viejos.
In her experience, light skin and money made almost anything easier. She wanted her grandchildren to come into the world with an advantage.
Un hombre hace lo que puede, una mujer hace lo que el hombre no puede.
Her stoic attitude contributed to the air of mystery surrounding her, long before she had any secrets to keep.
Walking and walking across the world he will gradually find consolation, and one day, when he is too fatigued to take another step, he will realize that he cannot escape sorrow, he will have to tame it, so it doesn’t harass him.
There’s a certain freshness and innocence in people who have always lived in one place and can count on witnesses to their passage through the world. In contrast, those of us who have moved on many times develop tough skin out of necessity. Since we lack roots or corroboration of who we are, we must put our trust in memory to give continuity to our lives... but memory is always cloudy, we can’t trust it.
What’s the worst thing about growing old?” she would ask them. They never thought about their age, was a common reply; they had once been adolescents, then they were thirty, fifty, sixty, and never gave it a thought, so why should they do so now?
Nothing can grow in the shade of secrets, she would say, love needs light and space to flourish.
I go, but I always remember you.
I must not linger on details, daughter, because if we dally, this account may be left unfinished, and no one wants to read hundreds of quartos only to find that the story has no clear ending.
He missed his venerable master, who had marked him forever with a thirst for knowledge as persistent as the drunk’s thirst for alcohol or the ambitious man’s thirst for power. He no longer had his mentor’s library or his inexhaustible fount of experience.
Full belly, happy heart,” was the favorite saying of Padre Mendoza, who had been obsessed with good nutrition ever since he’d heard of sailors suffering from scurvy when a lemon could have prevented their agony.