Quotes from book

Un hijo de perra y otros cuentos

“…the Moon is there, up above, still, shining, hiding every wound that time has marked her body.”

“She was such a beautiful, delicate apparition that she was on the verge of reciting a verse by Huidobro or Neruda right there, dedicated, by the way, to the little rose.”

“Pedestrians, passersby, civilians, citizens, couples, singles, children of God, move from side to side, miserable in their ignorance.”

“The moon is red, sensing the future, it has dressed up for its gala, or the Devil has decorated it.”

“Has he gained weight?" He smiles a pathetic smile, seeing his reflection, sweaty and "almost dead," projected there on the glass of a dismantled display case full of mannequins.”

“Such was his desire that when he mentioned that El Lazarillo was the work of an anonymous author, all he could imagine was how much he would now wish to become that absolute ANON.”

“Silence has become omnipresent and seemingly infinite for many miles, even longer than your mind can remember.”

“As if already destined for the seventh circle, a shudder stops him from heading toward the unknown, toward the beautifully fatal.”

“At times, he yearns for the few pockets of darkness that remain on this night so illuminated by that cursed moon, by the despicable stars, by the cursed vehicles, by the hateful city.”

“How to be sure that nothing will happen, when you don't always need a reason to become one of those cursed and deceptive beings, those entities thrown from the cradle of God.”

“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.”

“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.”

“While it's true that, recently, Ramiro Gutiérrez had shown a tendency toward tearful and painful literature, he had never felt the same way, for example, as the pathetic Werther or the gallant Don Quixote.”

“The demons are always around and he knows it.”

“He cannot stop imagining his bloody hands or himself lying mortally at the bottom of that bathtub, which, for now, serves as his refuge, as his escape from the World, from that which is outside, but which, Any day now, I could decide to go in.”

“It's been years, months, days, but he still can't get out of his mind those horrible, inhuman images, monstrous creations of subjects who look the same as everyone else; equal to him.”