Life had already given him sufficient reasons for knowing that no defeat was the final one.

He shook my hand and said goodbye with a sentence that might have been either good advice or a threat: "Take good care of yourself.

El mundo habrá acabado de joderse -dijo entonces- el día en que los hombres viajen en primera clase y la literatura en el vagón de carga.

And nevertheless, when they watched him leave the house, this man they themselves had urged to conquer the world, then they were the ones left with the terror that he would never return. That was their life. Love, if it existed, was something separate: another life.

Invulnerable to time, dedicated to the messianic happiness of thinking for us, knowing that we knew that he would not take any decision for us that did not have our measure, for he had not survived everything because of his inconceivable courage or his infinite prudence but because he was the only one among us who knew the real size of our destiny.

When one reaches absolute power, one loses total contact with reality.

I would not have traded the delights of my suffering for anything in the world.