I believe that always, or almost always, in all childhoods and in all the lives that follow them, the mother represents madness. Our mothers always remain the strangest, craziest people we've ever met.

In a thousand years time this day will have existed for a thousand years to the day. And the ignorance of the whole world about what they've said today will have a date too.

No other human being, no woman, no poem or music, book or painting can replace alcohol in its power to give man the illusion of real creation.

In a certain state of mind, all trace of feeling is banished. Whenever I remain silent in a certain way, I don't love you, have you noticed that?

All that remains of that minute is time in all its purity, bone-white time.

Very early in my life it was too late.

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