Two things make a story. The net and the air that falls through the net.

What does autumn go on paying for with so much yellow money?

Latin America is very fond of the word "hope." We like to be called the "continent of hope." Candidates for deputy, senator, president, call themselves "candidates of hope." This hope is really something like a promise of heaven, an IOU whose payment is always being put off. It is put off until the next legislative campaign, until next year, until the next century.

I like on the table, when we're speaking, the light of a bottle of intelligent wine.

The best poet is the man who delivers our daily bread: the local baker.

The Truth is in the prolouge. Death to the romantic fool., the expert in solitary confinement.

And I, a materialist who does not believe in the starry heaven promised to a human being, for this dog and for every dog I believe in heaven, yes, I believe in a heaven that I will never enter, but he waits for me wagging his big fan of a tail so I, soon to arrive, will feel welcomed.