Literature + Illness = Illness.
ROBERTO BOLANOThen 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.
More Roberto Bolano Quotes
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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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Only in chaos are we conceivable.
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There is a time for reciting poems and a time for fists.
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Dreams fade with morning light, Never a morn for thee, Dreamer of dreams, goodnight.
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The world is alive and no living thing has any remedy. That is our fortune.
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I decided to tell the truth even if it meant being pointed at.
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You run risks. That’s the plain truth. You run risks and, even in the most unlikely places, you are subject to destiny’s whims.
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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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The 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.
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The moon is fat and the night air is so pure it seems edible.
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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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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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Bright colours in the west, giant butterflies dancing as night crept like a cripple toward the east.
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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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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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If you’re going to say what you want to say, you’re going to hear what you don’t want to hear.
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One should read Borges more.
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I’m an educated man, the prisons I know are subtle ones.
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Reading is more important than writing.
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In some lost fold of the past, we wanted to be lions and we’re no more than castrated cats
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we interpret life at moments of the deepest desperation.
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Nothing is ever behind us.
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We’re artists too, but we do a good job hiding it, don’t we?
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When I was done traveling, I returned convinced of one thing: we’re nothing.
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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.
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Every book in the world is out there waiting to be read by me.
ROBERTO BOLANO