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page 27

“She kept saying “I love you,” every time they finished, every time he lost himself inside her, every time they reached that amazing ecstasy of two bodies that already know each other; But, deep down, she, little by little, had begun to doubt that “eternal love,” that verb so easy to conjugate.”

“This is how, without the consent of the two lovers, of its two main characters, of the only ones who were originally worth anything in this short story, the narrator decided to incorporate two more words into the plot: “doubt” and “uncertainty.””

“No, they never expected or sensed the wishes of that omniscient narrator who, at times, wondered, accompanied by a glass of cabernet, about how his story should be constructed, how this story should develop.”

“They never noticed the one who, silently, sustained this story, chose the future, set the guidelines for their memories and desires.”

“That apartment was everything those two lovers needed, locked up by their own will in a space and time, paradoxically, of absolute freedom.”

““I love you”, “I love you”, “I love you”, they said it for every moment in which they swore eternity and something more, to the point that it was annoying for those of us who were close, because, in reality, who loves each other so much? nowadays.”

“Suddenly, as the sun rose, the poem flew without an owner, while he faded away like a fiction called a “story.””

“She, perhaps, with a consciousness that many of us in adulthood lack or simply lost, would associate that so much water falling on our fat and heavy heads was due to the crying of some poet who was walking by.”

“Waking up, at forty years old, had become somewhat difficult, not only that morning, but since he was thirty.”

“If this were a story, we could affirm that it was a stereotype of an old lady, within a space that had lost its daily life around the corner.”

“Promoting reading is a moral responsibility of writers.”

“In the end, finding the Truth will always be tiring in a world full of appearances.”

“Contrary to what some might believe, writing does not generate enjoyment or pleasure in itself, quite the opposite; And yet, I feel the need to write fiction as if I have a feeling that I will find something in the middle of my narrative journey, no matter how painful it may be.”

“As a poet I am an emotional accident; a lyrical tourist.”

“Who are real men?”

“The closest thing to purgatory is a government agency, only the first does not exist and the second is very real.”

““Godín”, is said in Mexico of the office worker from nine to eighteen hours or of any other employee to whom his immediate boss says, during his first day of work and with all the naturalness in the world: “Welcome. From today, your body and soul belong to us.”

“Anita complained pitifully, because just because they don't listen to you because of your “small” voice, doesn't mean it doesn't hurt you.”

“Before becoming godín, Jaime worked for a miserable 79 mexican pesos an hour as a subject professor in one of the many universities in Guadalajara; very little for any future aspirations and very little for any present aspirations.”