The first lie of fiction is that the author gives some order to the chaos of life: chronological order, or whatever order the author chooses.

I try desperately to conquer the transitory nature of my existence, to trap moments before they evenesce, to untangle the confusion of my past. Every instant disappears in a breath and immediately becomes the past; reality is ephemeral and changing, pure longing.

Land is something one should never sell. It is the only thing left when all else is gone

We all have an unsuspected reserve of strength inside that emerges when life puts us to the test.

She was considered timid and morose. Only in the country, her skin tanned by the sun and her belly full of ripe fruit, running through the fields with Pedro Tercero, was she smiling and happy. Her mother said that that was the real Blanca, and that the other one, the one back in the city, was a Blanca in hibernation.

I should say that I'm not conscious of any particular style or any particular literary device when I am writing. I have written 22 books, and they are all very different. I have tried all kinds of genres.

There is no light without shadow, just as there is no happiness without pain.