“That's how it is, Rocamadour: in Paris we're like fungus, we grow on the railings of staircases, in dark rooms with greasy… — Julio Cortázar Copy Share Image
“Vos no elegís la lluvia que te va a calar hasta los huesos cuando salís de un concierto.” — Julio Cortázar Copy Share Image
“I envy Johnny and at the same time I get sore as hell watching him destroy himself, misusing his gifts, and the… — Julio Cortázar Copy Share Image
“También hay ríos metafísicos, Horacio. Vos te vas a tirar a uno de esos ríos.” — Julio Cortázar Copy Share Image
“Thus they went along, Punch and Judy, attracting each other and repelling, as love must do if it is not to end up as… — Julio Cortázar Copy Share Image
“Me daba asco pensar así, una vez más estar pensando todo lo que a los otros les bastaba sentir.” — Julio Cortázar Copy Share Image
“Y allá en el fondo está la muerte si no corremos y llegamos antes y comprendemos que ya no importa.” — Julio Cortázar Copy Share Image
But what is memory if not the language of feeling, a dictionary of faces and days and smells which repeat themselves like the verbs… — Julio Cortazar Copy Share Image
“Kada otvorim vrata i pojavim se na stepeništu, znaću da dole počinje ulica. Ali ne kalup, unapred prihvaćen, niti dobro poznate kuće, ni onaj… — Julio Cortazar Copy Share Image
“As soon as he began to amalate the noeme, the clemise began to smother her and they fell into hydromuries, into savage ambonies, into… — Julio Cortázar Copy Share Image
The best literature is always a take [in the musical sense]; there is an implicit risk in its execution, a margin of danger that… — Julio Cortazar Copy Share Image
What good is a writer if he can't destroy literature? And us... what good are we if we don't help as much as we… — Julio Cortazar Copy Share Image
I raised the camera, pretended to study a focus which did not include them, and waited and watched closely, sure that I would finally… — Julio Cortazar Copy Share Image
“That's how it is, Rocamadour: in Paris we're like fungus, we grow on the railings of staircases, in dark rooms with greasy smells, where… — Julio Cortázar Copy Share Image
