Ana Castillo Quotes

I ask the impossible: love me forever. Love me when all desire is gone. Love me with the single mindedness of a monk. When the world in its entirety, and all that you hold sacred advise you against it: love me still more. When rage fills you and has no name: love me. When each step from your door to our job tires you-- love me; and from job to home again, love me, love me. Love me when you're bored-- when every woman you see is more beautiful than the last, or more pathetic, love me as you always have: not as admirer or judge, but with the compassion you save for yourself in your solitude. Love me as you relish your loneliness, the anticipation of your death, mysteries of the flesh, as it tears and mends. Love me as your most treasured childhood memory-- and if there is none to recall-- imagine one, place me there with you. Love me withered as you loved me new. Love me as if I were forever-- and I, will make the impossible a simple act, by loving you, loving you as I do

Women Are Not Roses Women have no beginning only continual flows. Though rivers flow women are not rivers. Women are not roses they are not oceans or stars. i would like to tell her this but i think she already knows.

A good lover will do that, see something worthwhile in you that you never knew was there. And when there's something you don't like to see in yourself a good lover won't see it either.

Catch me, as if I have surely been out committing a violation against you, my sin of insisting on existing without you.

What you perceive as "liberal" is my independence to choose what i do, with whom, and when. Moreover, it also means that i may choose not to do it, with anyone, ever.

Poverty has its advantages. When you're that poor what would you have that anyone would want? Except your peace of mind. Your dignity. Your heart. The important things.

There’s potential in each and every one of us, and I hope you fulfill yours to the point of happiness.

There’s something insupportable about being pissed with the one person on this planet that sends your adrenaline flowing to remind you that you’re alive. It’s almost like we’re mad because we’ve been shocked out of our usual comatose state of being by feeling something for someone, for ourselves, for just a moment.

something about giving himself over to a woman was worse than having lunch with the devil...

Between the sun and poverty there was us for a little while.

To all the women and the men who ever loved me just a little.

The man you love cooking for you is good for you too.

Hell = "where we get rid of all the lies told to us. That’s where we go and cry like rain. Mom, hell is where you go to see yourself.

If you wish to heal your sadness or anger, seek to heal the sadness or anger of others. They are looking to you for guidance, help, courage, strength, understanding, and for assurance. Most of all, they are looking to you for love. He smiled.

Once innocence--an all too-brief state of being, if such a one exists--encounters experience, it is transformed. If that transformation is understood, it becomes knowledge. And if that knowledge is employed, then it becomes wisdom.

You say your city the way some Americans say this is their country. You never feel right saying that - my country. For some reason looking Mexican means you can't be American.

When our mother is seen only as the one-dimensional Mary of modern times, instead of the great dual force of life and death, She is relegated to the same second-class status of most women in the world. She is without desires of Her own, selfless and sexless except for Her womb. She is the cook, the mistress, bearer and caretaker of children and men. Men call upon Her and carry Her love and magic to form a formidable fortress, a team of cannons to protect them against their enemies. But for a long, long time the wars that women have been left to wage on behalf of men, on behalf of the human race, have started much sooner, in the home, in front of the hearth, in the womb. We do what we must to protect and provide for our young our families, our tribes

The Fool card represented one who walked without fear, aware of the choices she made in the journey of life, life itself being defined as a state of courage and wisdom and not an uncontrollable participation in society, as many people experienced their lives.

Women endure the labor of childbirth and men send themselves to war! But I gave birth to eight children and never once did I cry like I saw some of those men out there before they even fired their first shot! I think it has something to do with the unnaturalness of killing compared to the naturalness of giving birth.

A veces las cosas ocurren de forma insospechada y no siempre se puede decidir con antelación, se viven o se dejan pasar.

I don't know why so many of our ideals were stamped out like cigarette butts when we believed in them so furiously. Perhaps we were not furious enough.

And if you believe in God, I think She doesn’t work that way either.

It is beautiful to capture the soul of another being, isn't it? i nod and add, particularly when it has been a special person. We are talking about friendship, that has its own tenets so we are not talking about romantic/love/sex capture of another soul but the true captivation of another's spirit, which happens between people of the same sex sometimes.

But what had really happened, unfortunately, as ideal as it started out to be, was not that they had succeeded in becoming one, but that they had become neither.

We said nothing for several minutes. Our minds weighed like ripened fruit on the branch. When one is confronted by the mirror, the spirit trembles.

I tried to understand how in every journey a man or woman was both hero and anti-hero at varying times. Years

Icy green eyes regarded me with impersonal scrutiny. “Xavier Castillo.” Alex Volkov’s voice matched the man: cool, distanced, pitiless. “You’re the last person I expected to ask for a meeting.

You are a ghost, like you were a ghost before because you were never here, but everywhere at once, i wish i could talk like my eyes can see, word you with what i smell, knock your socks off with aromas of a tiny metropolis tourists only catch glimpses of at the Wharf. A thousand LSD trips and middle-aged folks remembering Timothy Leary playing like a Pied Piper leading them all off to jump off the pier.

No, it's too much. I should never have let you know that I was here. After all, there was no reason to tell you. It was just that we landed and I was sucked up by the tentacles of this, your city, and your name and that summer that were all inseparable and I called as soon as I put my bag down on the bed in this room.

Pídele a casi cualquier chicana o chicano fuera de la academia que nombre a una mujer famosa de origen mexicano y probablemente vas a escuchar "Dolores Huerta". Si la persona conoce a nuestras escritoras contemporáneas, quizá mencione a "Sandra Cisneros" o "Ana Castillo". Si preguntas por un nombre de los primeros tiempos, te podrán decir Sor Juana, la monja rebelde de los mil seiscientos. Cuando trates de profundizar, la persona a tu lado tal vez va a decir, "iMe doy por vencido!, pero, bueno... ahí está la Virgen de Guadalupe, que creo, está en muchísimas camisetas. Era inevitable entonces, que la necesidad de un libro como este sea finalmente reconocida. Ask almost anyone outside of academia to name famous US women of Mexican origin and you will probably hear ‘Dolores Huerta.’ If the person knows our contemporary writers, maybe ‘Sandra Cisneros’ and ‘Ana Castillo.’ If you ask for a name from earlier times, you might get ‘Sor Juana’-the rebel nun of the 1600’s. When you try to dig deeper, your companion may whimper, ‘I give up! Well…there’s the Virgin of Guadalupe, she’s on a lot of T-shirts. It was inevitable, then, that the need for a book like this would be recognized.

Mexico. Melancholy, profoundly right and wrong, it embraces as it strangulates

i too suffer from dreams.

On my list of worst ways to die, overheating half naked in a sauna with Xavier Castillo ranked somewhere between medieval torture and getting eaten alive by piranhas, which was why it was not going to happen.

If it were anyone else, I would’ve admired the raw masculine beauty on display, but this was Xavier Castillo. The day I admired anything except his commitment to non-commitment was the day I could somehow physically cry again.

I love you too, Xavier Castillo,” she murmured. “Always and forever.

Regardless, I wouldn’t kiss Xavier Castillo if he were the last man on earth,” I said coolly. “He is not my type.” He’s also gorgeous, and kind, and smarter than people give him credit for, a voice sang in my head.

It was easy being Xavier Castillo, the billionaire heir and party boy; it was torturous being Xavier Castillo, the man and disappointment. The one with a fucked-up past and uncertain future, who had plenty of friends yet no one to lean on.

You will board that jet, attend the gala with a smile, and stay for the entirety of the event like a good representative of the Castillo family because if you don’t, I will make it my personal mission to ensure you never have another second of peace. I will crash every party you attend, warn off any woman stupid enough to fall into your orbit, and blacklist any of your friends who enable your worst impulses from my events. I can make your life a living hell, so don’t make an enemy out of me.

Xavier Castillo. Only you.

I, Sloane Kensington, was attracted to Xavier Castillo. No, not just attracted to, but liked. Enough to forget my strict rules about not getting involved with clients. Enough to let him kiss me and to kiss him back. I’m so fucked.

thought of the countless people in the world who were born to live and die in anonymity, playing out lives no better or worse than anyone else’s and no one noticing. Sometimes we give others who don’t make a big mark in some way a moment in the limelight in fiction. Our novelists’ eyes and ears say to our readers, “Look here, please. Listen. This existence mattered, too.” That

The hour that was for them, for us, for all who had awakened one morning to see their fields covered with blood rather than harvest, who didn't seek to change the world but lived in good faith and prayer offered to an imposing God, for the young women who mended their men's clothing and held their sons' mouths to the purple nipples of sweet breasts, for the man who watched the suns descend behind the mountain every evening and dreamed and when his sons were grown, passed on his dreams, for the black nights when guitars harmonized with the wind's song, to the bottle of regional brew, and a hand-rolled cigarette, to the baptism and a dance of celebration, to the aroma of soups simmering on wood-burning stoves and filled the bellies of those who worked the fields, to a candle that burned in vigil while a hungry mind gulped the printed truth of another's legacy, to the owl that called from between the moon and earth while lovers enwrapped their passion on silver tinted grass, to the history of the world and to its future, to all that had lived and died and had been born again in that moment as i approached am opaque window and pointed my weapon.

Protect him, yes, with my life; spare him of learning responsibility and to take care of himself, no. During

In what neighborhood—town or city, rural area or village in the country—could I raise a brown boy and believe that no harm could ever come to him, where

If there was one person who’d use their illness to manipulate other people into doing what they wanted, it was Alberto Castillo.

The money was a prison, but it was all I had. Without it, Xavier Castillo as the world knew him would cease to exist, and the possibility of losing the only value I had was more terrifying than living the rest of my life in a gilded cage.

My secret had bubbled inside me for years. It needed a release valve, and somehow, in the most unexpected of ways, I’d found it in Xavier Castillo.

«¿Por qué únicamente aquella vez, en el manantial pudo sentirse libre y en paz?». El ahogo crecía dentro de su pecho. Orso recordaba momentos hermosos y llenos de placer al lado de otros muchachos allá en el castillo del Conde y, sin embargo, se daba cuenta de que todos aquellos instantes estaban prohibidos, espiados, amenazados. Y entonces pensó, mientras contemplaba el suave fluir del agua, que la felicidad es algo que no se tolera, como si hubiese alguien que quisiera erradicarla de la naturaleza de los humanos.

When I was a teenager, we used to cross over to Juárez every weekend. J-Town always had a reputation as a good place to party. It still does. Hey, it's the birthplace of the famous margarita cocktail. Back then, Spanish rock was just starting up and they had some good live bands there on weekends. A carload of us would go drinking and carousing. The worst that would happen was the cops would stop us because we were kids and all hammered.

But until I experienced what I now understand to be a true blessing, a glimpse into the future, I did not really understand love or life. Love, I learn, transcends this life and life transcends all that we perceive-which means, of course, that both go beyond the limitations of corporeal experience.

But wisdom is not only in letters. They knew how to foal their horses, how to sow and grow wheat in winter, how to choose and bend the wood to make their eight-foot-tall bows and hunt for their food, and how to build a house of mud bricks and paint larger than life on its foremost wall an image of one of their guiding icons: either our thousand-hectare winged eagle, or the proud white stag who could be hunted, but ought never be killed; or what my grandfather called “the majesty-horse” who runs like the wind and leaves flames of fire in his hoof prints.

group of any time and place in this world has also been overwritten, erased, represented falsely . . . and both slaughtered and enslaved—by a more powerful group—often using as tactics terror, murder, and starvation.