How could people like these, without words to put to their emotions and passions, manage? They could, at best, only suffer dumbly. Their pains and humiliations would work themselves out in their characters alone: like evil spirits possessing a body, so that the body itself might appear innocent of what it did.

I grew up in a small place and left it when I was quite young and entered the bigger world.

The melancholy thing about the world is that it is full of stupid people; and the world is run for the benefit of the stupid and common.

The only lies for which we are truly punished are those we tell ourselves.

If a writer doesn't generate hostility, he is dead.

Argentine political life is like the life of an ant community or an African forest tribe: full of events, full of crisis and deaths, but life is always cyclical, and the year ends as it begins.

In our island myth this was the prescribed end of marriages like mine: the wife goes off with someone from the Cercle Sportif, outside whose gates at night the willingly betrayed husband waits in his motorcar. The circumstances were slightly.