The Cemetery of Forgotten Books is like the greatest, most fantastic library you could ever imagine. Its a labyrinth of books with tunnels, bridges, arches, secret sections - and its hidden inside an old palace in the old city of Barcelona.

I was raised among books, making invisible friends in pages that seemed cast from dust and whose smell I carry on my hands to this day.

One loves truly only once in a lifetime, Julian, even if one isn’t aware of it.

Normal people bring children into the world; we novelists bring books. We are condemned to put our whole lives into them, even though they hardly ever thank us for it. We are condemned to die in their pages and sometimes even to let our books be the ones who, in the end, will take our lives.

Literature, at least good literature, is science tempered with the blood of art. Like architecture or music.

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.

There are no second chances in life, except to feel remorse.