Quotes from Carlos Ruiz Zafon

Todo crimen es como una cebolla: hay que cortar a través de muchas capas para ver qué esconde y por el camino hay que derramar unas cuantas lágrimas.

Julián died alone, convinced that nobody would remember him or his books and that his life had meant nothing," she said. "He would have liked to know that somebody wanted to keep him alive, that someone remembered him. He used to say that we exist as long as somebody remembers us.

Tinha dezassete anos e a vida nos lábios.

On certain occasions—none of which should apply to you or to the immediate future—a father must be disobeyed.' 'Why?' 'Because some fathers, unlike yours, make mistakes when they judge what is best for their children.

I thought about the loneliness that would take hold of me that night when I said good-bye to her, once I had run out of tricks or stories to make her stay with me any longer. I thought about how little I had to offer her and how much I wanted from her.

Desaparecer en la mirada del contrario era un arte cuyo aprendizaje podía llevar toda una vida.

Bea dice que el arte de leer se está muriendo muy lentamente, que es un ritual íntimo, que un libro es un espejo y que sólo podemos encontrar en él lo que ya llevamos dentro, que al leer ponemos la mente y el alma, y que ésos son bienes cada día más escasos

Lo bueno se hace esperar.

Con el tiempo, incluso los malos recuerdos se disfrazan de blanco

Non si sa chi si è davvero finché non si impara a odiare. E quando si odia davvero, quando ci si abbandona alla rabbia che brucia dentro, che consuma lentamente quel po' di buono che si credeva di avere come bagaglio, lo si fa in segreto.

What was essential, he argued, was not what the pursuer could see or guess, but what was within range of the pursued person's vision.

Men are like that. They're like geraniums. When they look as if they're ready to be tossed into the bin they revive.

I was still trapped in that dark, gloomy dining room where I now imagined Nuria Monfort sitting alone, silently tidying up her pencils, her folders, and her memories, her eyes poisoned with tears

a story is a letter the author writes to himself

Vojska služi samo kako bi se otkrilo koliki je udio budala u stanovništvu, smatrao je. A to se otkrije ve? u prva dva tjedna, nisu potrebne dvije godine. Vojska, brak, Crkva i banka: ?etiri jaha?a apokalipse. (...)

El pasado no desaparece, por mucho que se esfuercen los necios en olvidarlo y los embaucadores en falsificarlo para venderlo otra vez como si fuera nuevo. —¿Qué

Nobody knew, I thought. Nobody. But I nodded, and, after kissing her on the cheek, I wandered off, walking through the streets that seemed emptier than ever, thinking if I didn't stop, if I kept on walking, I wouldn't notice that the world I thought I knew was no longer there.

One mustn't dream of one's future; one must earn it. And you have no future, Salgado. Neither you, nor a country that keeps producing beasts like you and the governor, and then looks the other way. Between us all we've destroyed the future and all that awaits us is shit like the shit you're dripping with now and that I'm sick of cleaning off you.

Un cazador debe comprender que, en un momento crítico de la cacería, el papel de la presa y el del cazador se confunden. La caza, la caza de verdad, es un duelo entre iguales. Uno no sabe quién es de verdad hasta que derrama sangre

Hay peores cárceles que las palabras…

future could be read much more clearly in the streets, factories, and barracks than in the morning press.

Eu o observam cu coada ochiului È™i îmi d?deam seama c?, numai când m? uitam la ea, începea s?-mi vin? mai puÈ›in greu s? cred c?, poate, înc? mai r?m?sese ceva bun È™i decent în lumea asta mizerabil? È™i, cu ceva noroc, în mine însumi.

Aos poucos, assaltou-me a ideia de que atrás da capa de cada um daqueles livros se abria um infinito universo por explorar e que, fora daquelas paredes, o mundo deixava que a vida passasse em tardes de futebol e em novelas de rádio, satisfeito em ver apenas até onde vai o seu umbigo e pouco mais.

Cualquiera que aspira a conservar su sano juicio necesidad de un lugar en el mundo en el que pueda y desee perderse. Ese lugar, el último refugio, es un pequeño anexo del alma al que, cuando el mundo naufraga en su absurda comedia, uno siempre puede correr a encerrarse y extraviar la llave.