Everything that belonged to her husband made her weep again: his tasseled slippers, his pajamas under the pillow, the space of his absence in the dressing table mirror, his own odor on her skin. A vague thought made her shudder: "The people one loves should take all their things with them when they die.

It was a lone voice in the middle of the ocean, but it was heard at great depth and great distance.

She would not shed a tear, she would not waste the rest of her years simmering in the maggot broth of memory.

Surrealism comes from the reality of Latin America.

The heart's memory eliminates the bad and magnifies the good.

Sex is one's consolation when love is not enough

He would wake for no reason in the middle of the night, and the memory of the self-absorbed love was revealed to him for what it was: a pitfall of happiness that he despised and desired at the same time, but from which it was impossible to escape.