What's the purpose of being with someone if they don't change your life? She said that, and Julio was present when she said it: that life only had purpose if you found someone who changed it, who destroyed your life.
Alejandro Zambra¿Qué sentido tiene estar con alguien si no te cambia la vida?
[...] la vida sólo tenía sentido si encontrabas a alguien que te la cambiara, que destruyera tu vida.
Pero quién no es, de vez en cuando, una mancha en la vida de alguien
Alejandro ZambraStichwörter: reflection stain
To read is to cover one's face. And to write is to show it.
Alejandro ZambraStichwörter: reading writing bonsai act-of-reading act-of-writing alejandro-zambra inspiring-writers ways-of-going-home
The novel belongs to our parents, I thought then, I think now. That's what we grew up believing, that the novel belonged to our parents. We cursed them, and also took refuge in their shadows, relieved. While the adults killed or were killed, we drew pictures in a corner. While the country was falling to pieces, we were learning to talk, to walk, to fold napkins in the shapes of boats, of airplanes. While the novel was happening, we played hide-and-seek, we played at disappearing.
Alejandro ZambraSe ama para dejar de amar y se deja de amar para empezar a amar a otros, o para quedarse solos, por un rato o para siempre. Ese es el dogma. El único dogma.
Alejandro ZambraStichwörter: love
Es una historia de amor, nada demasiado particular: dos personas construyen, con voluntad e inocencia, un mundo paralelo que, naturalmente, muy pronto se viene abajo
Alejandro ZambraI always thought I didn't have real childhood memories. That my history fit into a few lines. One one page, maybe. In large print. I don't think that anymore.
Alejandro ZambraI knew little, but at least I knew that: no one could speak for someone else. That although we might want to tell other people's stories, we always end up telling our own.
Alejandro ZambraBecause we can't, we don't know how to talk about a movie or a book anymore; the moment has come when movies and novels don't matter, only the time we saw them, read them: where we were, what we were doing, who we were then.
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