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.
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 good ever comes of love. What comes of love is always something better.
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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.
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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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Poetry and prison have always been neighbors.
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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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I’m an educated man, the prisons I know are subtle ones.
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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).
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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 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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In some lost fold of the past, we wanted to be lions and we’re no more than castrated cats
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The moon is fat and the night air is so pure it seems edible.
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I decided to tell the truth even if it meant being pointed at.
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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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Literature is the product of a strange rain of blood, sweat, semen, and tears.
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Dreams fade with morning light, Never a morn for thee, Dreamer of dreams, goodnight.
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Every hundred feet the world changes.
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Nothing is ever behind us.
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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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I’ll tell you, my friends: it’s all in the nerves. The nerves that tense and relax as you approach the edges of companionship and love. The razor-sharp edges of companionship and love.
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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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Reading is like thinking, like praying, like talking to a friend, like expressing your ideas, like listening to other people’s ideas, like listening to music, like looking at the view, like taking a walk on the beach.
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We never stop reading, although every book comes to an end, just as we never stop living, although death is certain.
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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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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.
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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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Death, in the Eastern tradition, was only a passage. What wasn’t clear, was toward what place, what reality, that passage led.
ROBERTO BOLANO