black
grey
blue
red
brown
white

Only in chaos are we conceivable.

Roberto Bolano

Reading is pleasure and happiness to be alive or sadness to be alive and above all it’s knowledge and questions.
ROBERTO BOLANO

Happiness Knowledge Pleasure Question Reading
Bright colours in the west, giant butterflies dancing as night crept like a cripple toward the east.
ROBERTO BOLANO

Color Dance Night
we interpret life at moments of the deepest desperation.
ROBERTO BOLANO

Desperation Life Moments
The American mirror, said the voice, the sad American mirror of wealth and poverty and constant useless metamorphosis, the mirror that sails and whose sails are pain.
ROBERTO BOLANO

Constant Mirror Pain Poverty Voice Wealth
When I was done traveling, I returned convinced of one thing: we’re nothing.
ROBERTO BOLANO

Myself Return Traveling
Jesus is the masterpiece. The thieves are minor works. Why are they there? Not to frame the crucifixion, as some innocent souls believe, but to hide it.
ROBERTO BOLANO

Believe Frame Innocent Masterpiece Soul Work
One should read Borges more.
ROBERTO BOLANO

Book Oneself Reading
Death, in the Eastern tradition, was only a passage. What wasn’t clear, was toward what place, what reality, that passage led.
ROBERTO BOLANO

Death Passage Reality Tradition
No one pays attention to these killings, but the secret of the world is hidden in them.
ROBERTO BOLANO

Attention Hide Kill Oneself Pay Secret
If life is misery, why do we endure it?
ROBERTO BOLANO

Endurance Life Misery
Metaphors are our way of losing ourselves in semblances or treading water in a sea of seeming.
ROBERTO BOLANO

Assume Lose Sea Water
We all have to die a bit every now and then and usually it’s so gradual that we end up more alive than ever. Infinitely old and infinitely alive.
ROBERTO BOLANO

Alive Death End Gradual Infinite
When people read his books they have an uncontrollable desire to hang the author in the town square. I can’t think of a higher honor for a writer.
ROBERTO BOLANO

Book Control Desire Myself People Reading Writing
Poetry and prison have always been neighbors.
ROBERTO BOLANO

Neighbor Poetry Prison
I kept having dreams all night. I thought they were touching me with their fingers. But dreams don’t have fingers, they have fists, so it must have been scorpions.
ROBERTO BOLANO

Dreams Fingers Thinking Touching
As time goes by, as time goes by, the whip-crack of the years, the precipice of illusions, the ravine that swallows up all human endeavour except the struggle to survive.
ROBERTO BOLANO

Human Illusion Struggle Survive Swallow Time

Only in chaos are we conceivable.

Related Topics

Popular Authors

Only in chaos are we conceivable.

Related Topics

Popular Authors

More Roberto Bolano Quotes