I’d obviously never heard of the group, but my ignorance in literary matters is to blame for that (every book in the world is out there waiting to be read by me).
ROBERTO BOLANOI’d obviously never heard of the group, but my ignorance in literary matters is to blame for that (every book in the world is out there waiting to be read by me).
ROBERTO BOLANOPoetry and prison have always been neighbors.
ROBERTO BOLANOThe truth is we never stop being children, terrible children covered in sores and knotty veins and tumors and age spots, but ultimately children, in other words we never stop clinging to life because we are life.
ROBERTO BOLANOYou have to know how to look even if you don’t know what you’re looking for.
ROBERTO BOLANOBeing alone makes us stronger. That’s the honest truth. But it’s cold comfort, since even if I wanted company no one will come near me anymore.
ROBERTO BOLANOBright colours in the west, giant butterflies dancing as night crept like a cripple toward the east.
ROBERTO BOLANOReading is more important than writing.
ROBERTO BOLANOWe never stop reading, although every book comes to an end, just as we never stop living, although death is certain.
ROBERTO BOLANOWe 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 BOLANOThe world is alive and no living thing has any remedy. That is our fortune.
ROBERTO BOLANOLiterature is the product of a strange rain of blood, sweat, semen, and tears.
ROBERTO BOLANOWhen I was done traveling, I returned convinced of one thing: we’re nothing.
ROBERTO BOLANOReading is pleasure and happiness to be alive or sadness to be alive and above all it’s knowledge and questions.
ROBERTO BOLANOThere is a time for reciting poems and a time for fists.
ROBERTO BOLANOI 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 BOLANOMetaphors are our way of losing ourselves in semblances or treading water in a sea of seeming.
ROBERTO BOLANO