Our mothers always remain the strangest, craziest people we've ever met.

Suddenly, all at once, she knows, knows that he doesn't understand her, that he never will, that he lacks the power to understand such perverseness. And that he can never move fast enough to catch her.

When the past is recaptured by the imagination, breath is put back into life.

Stormy skies, says Ernesto. He grieved for them. Summer rain. Childhood.

The outrage was on the scale of God. My younger brother was immortal and they hadn't noticed. Immortality had been concealed in my brother's body while he was alive, and we hadn't noticed that it dwelt there. Now my brother's body was dead, and immortality with it. ... And the error, the outrage, filled the whole universe.

Our mothers always remain the strangest, craziest people we've ever met.

That she had so completely recovered her sanity was a source of sadness to her. One should never be cured of one's passion.