No one pays attention to these killings, but the secret of the world is hidden in them.
ROBERTO BOLANOIf I were to say what I really think I would be arrested or shut away in a lunatic asylum. Come on, I am sure that it would be the same for everyone.
More Roberto Bolano Quotes
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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.
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But every single damn thing matters! Only we don’t realize. We just tell ourselves that art runs on one track and life, our lives, on another, and we don’t realize that’s a lie.
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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.
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The sky, at sunset, looked like a carnivorous flower.
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Metaphors are our way of losing ourselves in semblances or treading water in a sea of seeming.
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When I was done traveling, I returned convinced of one thing: we’re nothing.
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The moon is fat and the night air is so pure it seems edible.
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Nothing good ever comes of love. What comes of love is always something better.
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For a moment the two of them looked at each other, wordless, as if they were asleep and their dreams had converged on common ground, a place where sound was alien.
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Nothing is ever behind us.
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If I were to say what I really think I would be arrested or shut away in a lunatic asylum. Come on, I am sure that it would be the same for everyone.
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They could read him, they could study him, they could pick him apart, but they couldn’t laugh or be sad with him.
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For her, reading was directly linked to pleasure, not to knowledge or enigmas or constructions or verbal labyrinths.
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Reading is pleasure and happiness to be alive or sadness to be alive and above all it’s knowledge and questions.
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Nothing happened today. And if anything did, I’d rather not talk about it, because I didn’t understand it.
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There is a time for reciting poems and a time for fists.
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Then he went out without touching anything and put his arm around Ingeborg, and like that, with their arms around each other, they returned to the village while the whole past of the universe fell on their heads.
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Death, in the Eastern tradition, was only a passage. What wasn’t clear, was toward what place, what reality, that passage led.
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I realized my happiness was artificial. I felt happy because I saw the others were happy and because I knew I should feel happy, but I wasn’t really happy.
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In the current socio-political climate, he said to himself, committing suicide is absurd and redundant. Better to become an undercover poet.
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Every hundred feet the world changes.
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So everything lets us down, including curiosity and honesty and what we love best. Yes, said the voice, but cheer up, it’s fun in the end.
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I’m an educated man, the prisons I know are subtle ones.
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One should read Borges more.
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Dreams fade with morning light, Never a morn for thee, Dreamer of dreams, goodnight.
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Only in chaos are we conceivable.
ROBERTO BOLANO