There's no such thing as dead languages, only dormant minds.
Carlos Ruiz ZafónThis place is a mystery. A sanctuary. Every book, every volume you see, has a soul. The soul of the person who wrote it
Carlos Ruiz ZafónBooks are mirrors: you only see in them what you already have inside you.
Carlos Ruiz ZafónIn this world the only opinion that holds court is prejudice.
Carlos Ruiz ZafónEvery time a book changes hands, every time someone runs his eyes down its pages, its spirit grows and strengthens.
Carlos Ruiz ZafónNão conhecia o prazer de ler, de explorar portas que se nos abrem na alma, de nos abandonarmos à imaginação, à beleza e ao mistério da ficção e da linguagem.
Carlos Ruiz ZafónTags: inspirational
We exist as long as somebody remembers us.
Carlos Ruiz ZafónBooks hold no passports. There's only one true literary tradition: the human.
Carlos Ruiz ZafónTags: books literature
We seem to live in a world where forgetting and oblivion are an industry in themselves and very, very few people are remotely interested or aware of their own recent history, much less their neighbors'. I tend to think we are what we remember, what we know. The less we remember, the less we know about ourselves, the less we are. (Interview with Three Monkeys Online, October 2008)
Carlos Ruiz ZafónTags: history memory forgetting remembering
I knew that Clara kept Carax's book in a glass cabinet by the arch of the balcony. I crept up to it. My plan, or my lack of it, was to lay my hands on the book, take it out of there, give it to that lunatic, and lose sight of him forever after. Nobody would notice the book's absence, except me. Carax's book was waiting for me, as it always did, its spine just visible at the end of a shelf. I took it in my hands and pressed it against my chest, as if embracing an old friend whom I was about to betray. Judas, I thought. I decided to leave the place without making Clara aware of my presence. I would take the book and disappear from Clara's life forever. Quietly, I stepped out of the library. The door of her bedroom was just visible at the end of the corridor...I walked slowly up to the door. I put my fingers on the doorknob. My fingers trembled. I had arrived too late. I swallowed hard and opened the door.
Carlos Ruiz Zafón« first previous
Page 4 of 73.
next last »
Data privacy
Imprint
Contact
Diese Website verwendet Cookies, um Ihnen die bestmögliche Funktionalität bieten zu können.