She looked at him with love in her eyes, but she feared the night ahead, feared her dreams. Her life was split. Both day and night were competing for her.
Never had she let herself go in this way with another body, and never had another body let itself go with her in this way. Her lover could play with her belly, but he had never lived in there; he could touch her breast, but he never drunk from it.
You were like flames that must dance and leap to exist at all.
There is nothing harder to explain than humor.
The greatest adventure of our lives is the absence of adventure.
The cemetery was vanity transmogrified into stone. Instead of growing more sensible in death, the inhabitants of the cemetery were sillier than they had been in life.
Each interpreted the other’s words in his own way, and the lived in perfect harmony, the perfect solidarity of perfect Mutual misunderstanding.
He yearned for one long embrace with Sabina, yearned never to say another sentence, another word, to let his orgasm fuse with that orgiastic thunder of music. And lulled by that blissful imaginary uproar, he fell asleep.
It was idealism that made him so angry. He expected too much out of life.
Solo como un cuadro de Van Gogh bajo la mirada idiota de los turistas. Solo como la Luna que nadie ve.
La tristeza era la forma y la felicidad, el contenido. La felicidad llenaba el espacio de la tristeza.
But was it love? The feeling of wanting to die beside her was clearly exaggerated: he had seen her only once before in his life! Was it simply the hysteria of a man who, aware deep down of his inaptitude for love, felt the self-deluding need to simulate it? His unconscious was so cowardly that the best partner it could choose for its little comedy was this miserable provincial waitress with practically no chance at all to enter his life!
It takes a very great intelligence to breathe logical meaning into meaningless ideas.
Poetry never plays a more important role than it does during revolutionary periods; poetry gave the revolution its voice and in return the revolution liberated poetry from isolation; the poet now knows he is being heard by the people, especially young people; for youth, poetry and revolution are one and the same.
The novel is born not of the theoretical spirit but of the spirit of humor.
Metaphors are not to be trifled with.
Because love means renouncing strength.
Every situation is of man’s making and can only contain what man contains.
Nowadays, people no longer know Beethoven’s Ninth from concerts, but form the for lines of the ‘Ode to Joy’ that they hear every day in the ad for Bella Perfume.
I know you’re quiet a workman on God’s eternal construction site and don’t like hearing about demolition, but what can I do? Myself, I’m not one of God’s bricklayers. Besides, if God’s bricklayers built real walls, I doubt we’d be able to demolish them. But instead of walls all I see is stage sets. And stage sets are made to be demolished.