Quotes from Guillermo del Toro

In consiliis nostris fatum nostrum est, se leía. Es decir, "En nuestras decisiones reside nuestro destino".

Since childhood, I've been faithful to monsters. I have been saved and absolved by them, because monsters, I believe, are patron saints of our blissful imperfection, and they allow and embody the possibility of failing.

She cries, but so does the sky; the whole universe sobs, the people and animals and land and water, all weeping for a unity nearly sealed between two divergent worlds, but that could not, in the end, be sustained.

Los mortales no entienden que la vida no es un libro que cierras solo cuando has leído la última página. No existe tal cosa en el Libro de la Vida, ya que la última página siempre es la misma de la historia siguiente.

Ofelia's mother didn't know it, but she also believed in a fairy tale. Carmen Cardoso believed the most dangerous tale of all: the one of the prince who would save her.

Repetition only extinguishes pleasure.

Monsters are the patron saints of otherness.

La madre de Ofelia no lo sabía, pero ella también creía en los cuentos de hadas. Carmen Cardoso creía en el cuento más peligroso de todos: aquel en que un príncipe la salvaría.

Il male si presenta sempre in qualche forma familiare.

This world is a motherfucker, isn't it?" Angel nodded and said, "But it's the only one we have." Gus

In the dark, I heard your voice. What did you say? I said, "Hey, you on the other side, let her go. Because for her… for her I'll cross over. And then you'll be sorry.

Symbols are lovingly inlaid to add to a second or third reading, and even to change radically if you combine them. Symbols have that capacity; they are not ciphers that remain immutable.

El tartamudeo lo desarrollan los dulces y sensibles, los que no pueden impedir verlo y sentirlo todo.

pulled Jimmy the Bishop's audio.

What had brought him to this outpost of hell? Ferreira wondered while following Garces into the rain: fate or his own decisions?

Yes. The metamorphosis had been successful. Actually, this body might prove to be a new favorite, although she'd taken many shapes in her immortal life. Change was in her nature. It was part of her magic and her favorite game.

It can't be that late already. It can't be. She's had all day, all night to say good-bye to him and she hasn't even begun.

A H S U D A G U–W A H

They call me Troll; Gnawer of the Moon, Giant of the Gale-blasts, Curse of the rain-hall, Companion of the Sibyl, Nightroaming hag, Swallower of the loaf of heaven. What is a Troll but that? —Bragi Boddason the Old, ninth-century poet

He felt so tired and angry. Maybe his anger was mostly caused by his exhaustion and lack of hope. And don't forget the fear, he told himself. Fear that the good causes never win—that they can only hold up evil for a while.

Setrakian said, "Think more along the lines of a man with a black cape. Fangs. Funny accent." He turned his head so that Gus could hear him better. "Now take away the cape and fangs. The funny accent. Take away anything funny about it." Gus

The forest offered so much to those who honored it.

Her fairy tales were wrong to give evil the shape of a magnificent wild creature. Both Ernesto Vidal and the Pale Man were human beings who fed on hearts and souls because they had lost their own.

Or maybe the labyrinth had been built just for this purpose—to have them all play their part in a story written once upon a time and long ago.