Skill alone cannot teach or produce a great short story, which condenses the obsession of the creature; it is a hallucinatory presence manifest from the first sentence to fascinate the reader, to make him lose contact with the dull reality that surrounds him, submerging him in another that is more intense and compelling.

La Maga did not know that my kisses were like eyes which began to open up beyond her, and that I went along outside as if I saw a different concept of the world, the dizzy pilot of a black prow which cut the water of time and negated it.

(memory is) A strange echo, which stores its replicas according to some other acoustic than consciousness or expectation.

Memory is a mirror that scandalously lies.

The unusual is only found in a very small percentage, except in literary creations, and that is exactly what makes literature.

Wordplay hides a key to reality that the dictionary tries in vain to lock inside every free word.

The modern story begun, one might say, with Edgar Allan Poe, which proceeds inexorably, like a machine destined to accomplish its mission with the maximum economy of means.