#Quote
More Quotes by Julio Cortázar
Where are the beginnings, the endings, and most important, the middles?
The novel wins by points, the short story by knockout.
As if you could pick in love, as if it were not a lightning bolt that splits your bones and leaves you staked out in the middle of the courtyard. (...) You don't pick out the rain that soaks you to the skin when you come out of a concert.
Come sleep with me: We won't make Love,Love will make us.
I think we all have a little bit of that beautiful madness that keeps us walking when everything around us is so insanely sane.
Only in dreams, in poetry, in play do we sometimes arrive at what we were before we were this thing that, who knows, we are.
Time is born in the eyes, everybody knows that.
But what is memory if not the language of feeling, a dictionary of faces and days and smells which repeat themselves like the verbs and adjectives in a speech, sneaking in behind the thing itself,into the pure present, making us sad or teaching us vicariously.
Human history is the sad result of each one looking out for himself.
Of all our feelings the only one which really doesn't belong to us is hope. Hope belongs to life, it's life itself defending itself. Etcetera.
