“Literature is a toy for adults; my books are toys for adults who have read Lautréamont.” — césar aira Copy Share Image
“Each of us is the ultimate expert on the gentleness and understanding we deserve.” — César Aira Copy Share Image
“It is not that I am a genius or exceptionally gifted, not by any means. Quite the contrary. What Happened (I shall try to… — César Aira Copy Share Image
“A reader of mine is a deluxe reader, not because I’m so great but because in order to get to me you have to… — César Aira Copy Share Image
“Each instant was different and new and unrepeatable. That was the very nature of time, ceaselessly realizing itself, in every life.” — César Aira Copy Share Image
“Forgetting is like a great alchemy free of secrets, limpid, transforming everything to the present. In the end it makes our lives into this… — César Aira Copy Share Image
Changing the subject is one of the most difficult arts to master, the key to almost all the others. — Cesar Aira Copy Share Image
“Why is it that drama always starts late? Whereas comedy always seems to have started already.” — César Aira Copy Share Image
“Were the “pampas,” perhaps, flatter than the land they were crossing? He doubted it; what could be flatter than a horizontal plane?” — César Aira Copy Share Image
“En suma: si decía que estaba solo, no era más que porque no tenía con quién hablar.” — César Aira Copy Share Image
“After thirty years working as a commercial fiction translator, I've reached to the conclussion that, on average, the more pages a book has, the… — César Aira Copy Share Image
“Literature is the queen of the arts —the greatest of them all, because it embraces them all. When you write, you are making music,… — César Aira Copy Share Image
“So familiar that it didn't even register in the conversation; but it did reappear when I laid it out on the table of my… — César Aira Copy Share Image
“A bird flashed across the empty sky. A cart immobile on the horizon, like a midday star. How could a plain like this be… — César Aira Copy Share Image
“He couldn’t believe that sleep had robbed him of this spectacle night after night. Such are the writer’s privileges, he thought, nostalgic already for… — César Aira Copy Share Image
