Clavo saca clavo. Nothing sacas nothing, you reply. No one will ever be like her.

It's exactly at these moments, when all hope has vanished, that prayer has dominion.

Tell her that you love her hair, that you love her skin, her lips, because, in truth, you love them more than you love your own.

The half-life of love is forever.

She's applying her lipstick; I've always believed that the universe invented the color red solely for Latinas.

Literature is less involved in giving you answers and more dedicated to giving you insight.

I was surrounded by a lot of male writers of color who have this incredibly bizarre relationship to masculinity. It's like we were all mega-nerds but you would never know that if you listened to the way they talk about themselves.