Quotes from Guillermo del Toro

Part of getting old is checking oneself constantly. Keeping a good firm grip on the handrail. Making sure you're still you.

Del Toro wearing sculpted and molded gelatin makeup, including fake hair and acrylic dentures and gums.

Do we not all do monstrous things to prevent the ultimate monstrous act? I like to visualize the world as a china plate held aloft by two sticks, one the US, the other the USSR. If one stick rises, so must the other, or else the plate goes smash.

Elisa lives in a world of her own devising. That's obvious from the shoes. Zelda imagines Elisa's perception as one of those dioramas she saw in a museum, perfect little realms, breakable but not if you walk softly.

The egg, at last, is revealed, and what is more coherent and elemental than an egg?

Elisa believes this creature is accustomed to much larger gestures: full-body tumbles within seething seas; darting attacks; unfolding to full height beneath a tropical sun.

the water in this cave is small but we begin to heal and it is better water than the last water no water should bring pain water should not be flat water should not be smooth water should not be empty water should not have a shape there is no shape of water

When she reaches into the tub to swirl the salt, their eyes meet, only for a second, but in that second she reads both gratitude and amazement. The idea is outlandish. She amazes him. How is that possible, when he is the most amazing thing that ever lived?

WHAT WAS ZELDA doing in the seconds before her front door was kicked in? Before the wood securing the dead bolt disintegrated into daggers and left the chain lock dangling like a mugger-torn necklace? She thinks she was cooking.

She reaches out to him. To herself. There is no difference. She understands now. She holds him, he holds her, they hold each other, and all is dark, all is light, all is ugliness, all is beauty, all is pain, all is grief, all is never, all is forever.

But I think it is a hopeful story. Is not some underwater paradise preferable to a life of poverty and incest and violence?

THE THING WAS AN EXPERT IN HORROR, BUT THIS HUMAN HORROR INDEED EXCEEDED ANY OTHER POSSIBLE FATE. NOT ONLY BECAUSE IT WAS WITHOUT MERCY, BUT BECAUSE IT WAS ACTED UPON RATIONALLY AND WITHOUT COMPULSION. IT WAS A CHOICE. THE KILLING WAS UNRELATED TO THE LARGE WAR, AND IT SERVED NO OTHER PURPOSE THEN EVIL. MEN CHOSE TO DO THIS TO OTHER MEN AND INVENTED REASONS AND PLACES AND MYTHS IN ORDER TO SATISFY THEIR DESIRE IN A LOGICAL AND METHODICAL WAY.

Fet was paying close attention to the old man. "You know what?" he said. "Twice when you were just talking, I heard you say the word 'vampire.'" Setrakian looked at him evenly. "That you did." After

Shiver by shiver, we gain insight [...].

Even if one understands that what one is doing is mad, it is indeed still madness—cutting

El laberinto del fauno era una gran prueba de que la fantasía puede ser a su vez poética y política, y eso es una herramienta perfecta para comprender la realidad fantástica de nuestra existencia.

Vivían atormentados. Carentes de todo salvo de obscuridad. Demasiado tarde, ¿era demasiado tarde para ver la luz?

He. Nobody spoke his name. Vidal. It sounded like a stone thrown through a window

Today she is the richest woman in the world; she has everything she could want; she loves and is loved,

Learning about adults' secrets means learning to understand their world—and how to survive

Finally, she is dancing, truly dancing, across a submerged ballroom and fearing no misstep, for her partner has got her tight and will lead her anyplace she needs to go.

All art is portraiture and all art is political: those are the things that you cannot avoid. When someone sees you in your entirety for who you are, that's the greatest act of love, because it's granting you existence. And the rarest act of love is, like cinema, to see.

We want to assure the public that this threat is contained." Only an elected official would dare to declare a thing safe and finished when he or she didn't even know yet what it was.

And this, I believe, is where my third grade teacher had it wrong: Answers can only aspire to be important. Questions remain forever relevant, forever eloquent. Answers are science, questions are poetry.