Time is born in the eyes, everybody knows that.

A short story relies on those values that make poetry and jazz what they are: tension, rhythms, inner beat, into unforeseen within foreseen parameters

We no longer believe because it is absurd: it is absurd because we must believe.

Wordplay hides a key to reality that the dictionary tries in vain to lock inside every free word.

Everything can be killed except nostalgia for the kingdom, we carry it in the color of our eyes, in every love affair, in everything that deeply torments and unties and tricks.

After the age of 50 we begin to die little by little in the deaths of others.

I realized that searching was my symbol, the emblem of those who go out at night with nothing in mind, the motives of a destroyer of compasses.

The novel wins by points, the short story by knockout.

Where are the beginnings, the endings, and most important, the middles?

Human history is the sad result of each one looking out for himself.

The evolution from happiness to habit is one of death's best weapons.

Memory is a mirror that scandalously lies.

Only by living absurdly is it possible to break out of this infinite absurdity.

Come sleep with me: We won't make Love,Love will make us.

Only in dreams, in poetry, in play do we sometimes arrive at what we were before we were this thing that, who knows, we are.

In quoting others, we cite ourselves.

At eighteen the heart shoots like a pebble from a slingshot and the head doesn't sit on the shoulder.

And don't forget, a prisoner's wife must always think good thoughts.

At eighteen you sleep without memories.