To him she seemed so beautiful, so seductive, so different from ordinary people, that he could not understand why no one was as disturbed as he by the clicking of her heels on the paving stones, why no one else's heart was wild with the breeze stirred by the sighs of her veils, why everyone did not go mad with the movements of her braid, the flight of her hands, the gold of her laughter. He had not missed a single one of her gestures, not one of the indications of her character, but he did not dare approach her for fear of destroying the spell.

Just as real events are forgotten, some that never were can be in our memories as if they happened.

A person does not belong to a place until there is someone dead under the ground.

The truth was that I could not manage my soul, and I was becoming aware of old age because of my weakness in the face of love.

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.

we had made love without love, half-dressed most of the time and always in the dark so we could imagine ourselves as better than we were.

That's maybe the reason he does so many things so that he will not have to think .