Behind him a string of broken women has hardly been alive.
Sometimes he'd get home before the children were asleep, and carry them around on his back, kick balls with them, and tell them stories of pigs with spiders on their heads. Other times he would turn u...
تتساءل لماذا يتحمّل الناس كل ذلك، لأنهم اعتادوا على ذلك. و لم يعد بإمكانهم أن يروا إمكانية أن تكون الأشياء مختلفة. ما يفاجئني ليس الكم الكثير الذي يطلبه الناس، بل القليل الذي يطلبونه.
What’s that?’ his wife said. She came closer. ‘It’s a penis,’ she said. ‘You’ve come home with a man’s penis – complete with balls and pubic hair – in your pocket. Where did you get it?
[My father] murmured only, 'you can always tell when a woman is ready for sex. Oh yes. Her ears get hot.'I looked keenly at Helen's ears. I even reached out and pinched one of them lightly, for scient...
Sé que el amor es un trabajo sucio; tienes que mancharte las manos. Si te mantienes a distancia, no sucede nada interesante. Además, debes encontrar la distancia adecuada entre las personas. Si están...
The world is simple: it’s just a matter of cafés where they like you, and cafés where they don’t.
The best stories are the open ones, those you don’t quite understand.
The city blew the windows of my brain wide open. But being in a place so bright, fast and brilliant made you vertiginous with possibility: it didn't necessarily help you grasp those possibilities. I s...
The girl had many virtues: money, a car--a gold-coloured Capri, in which she played the latest funk--a big house and a rich father. When Valentin asked, 'What does your boyfriend do?' she replied, 'Bu...
The interesting people you wanted to be with - their minds were unusual, you saw things freshly with them and all was not deadness and repetition.
The madness of writing was the antidote to true madness.
The news I bring is to say that, man being the only animal who hates himself, the likely fate of the world is total self-destruction.
You’re smart enough to recognize that the subjects of migraines and cats never fail with the women. Lead the old girl toward the mint tea.
The point is, Harry, if I’m not to find you abhorrent, there will have to be more reciprocity all round. Particularly from your side.
The truth is a tattoo on your forehead. You can’t see it yourself. I am your mirror.
The truth is always a surprise.
The vocation of each writer is to describe the world as he or she sees it; anything more than that is advertising.
The world’s full of people with unusual beliefs, Julia. Scientologists, Rastafarians, Catholics, Moonies, Mormons, Baptists, Tories, dentists, captains of industry—every madness has its cheerleader. T...
The writer, indeed every real artist, was the devil, rivalling God in creativity, trying even to surpass him. God was surely man’s most fatal creation, the devil’s kitsch bitch. It was God, with his i...
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