Carlos Fuentes Quotes

I need, therefore I imagine.

Look at me, chica." When she does, I repeat, "Eres hermosa." "What does it mean?" "You're beautiful.

Don't classify me, read me. I'm a writer, not a genre.

I'm in deep shit Alex, 'cause I think I'd like nothin' better than to wake up with her every mornin'.

Hey, Carlos," the Professor says when he walks in. "How was REACH?" "It sucked." "Can you be more specific?" my guardian asks. "It really sucked," I elaborate, sarcasm dripping from every word.

La cucaracha, La cucaracha, Ya no puede caminar, porque no tiene, porque le falta, I don't know the rest, la la la la!

Next time I want to do something nice, slap me.

You start by writing to live. You end by writing so as not to die.

-You think I’ve got a big ego and an attitude problem? -I don’t think you do, Carlos. I know it. Unfortunately, it’s a Fuentes flaw. -I’d call it an asset. It’s what makes us Fuentes brothers irresistible. Carlos and Brittany

Do you ever lose the ego?” Westford asks me. “Yeah.” When his daughter kisses me, my ego flies out the window.

Recognize yourself in he and she who are not like you and me.

Writing is a struggle against silence.

And just so you know for the future, I like my double-chocolate chip cookies warm and soft in the middle...and without magnets glued to them." "Me, too. When you decide to bake me some, let me know.

Yo no soy mexicano. Yo no soy gringo. Yo no soy chicano. No soy gringo en USA y mexicano en Mexico. Soy chicano en todas partes. No tengo que asimilarme a nada. Tengo mi propia historia.

Dios mio, I think my brother lost his balls somewhere between here and Mexico. Or maybe Brittany has them zipped inside that fancy purse (of hers).

What happens when I break one of your fuckin’ rules?

Just so you know, I’m goin’ to enlist.” “I’m proud of you. But why?” I groan against the pain but manage to give him a half smile. “I want to make sure Kiara’s got a boyfriend who has more to offer than a hot bod and a face that could make angels weep.

Can I request another peer guide, One who isn't so happy to be at school at 7:30 a.m.?

Do I hear a challenge?” she whispers, “Oh, Carlos. You know I can’t resist a challenge.

One wants to tell a story, like Scheherezade, in order not to die. It's one of the oldest urges in mankind. It's a way of stalling death.

Did I ever tell you that Alex loves you so much he got your name tattooed all over his body? Hell, he even got your name branded into the back of his neck." "They say 'LB,' Carlos. The initials for Latino Blood." "No, no, no. You've got it all wrong. He wants everyone to think that, but in reality it means Lover of Brittany. LB, get it?

Want to get in trouble with me, Carlos?

Girls like you want to cut guy's nuts off and hang 'em from your rearview mirror.

Love can isolate us from everything around us. But in its absence, we can be filled with the fear that something comparable exists.

Didn't you learn anything from my mistakes?" he asks. Shit, when Alex was in the Latino Blood back in Chicago I worshiped him. "You don't want to hear my answer to that.

That’s not the only reason I’m stayin’, chica. I can’t leave you any more than I could walk out that door right now while my leg is busted up. I was just thinkin’ . . . should we tell your parents now or later?” “Tell them what?” I ask, eyes wide. He kisses me softly, then says proudly, “That we’re in a serious, monogamous, committed relationship.” “We are?” “Sí. And when I get out of here, I’m gonna fix the door to your car.

Memory is satisfied desire.

chaos: it has no plural.

There is no creation without tradition; the 'new' is an inflection on a preceding form; novelty is always a variation on the past.

Culture consists of connections, not of separations: to specialize is to isolate.

K, the lady at the store said yellow means friendship and red means love. The rosary is the only thing I own that has value to me. It's yours. I'm yours C.

No, it's not that they're bad. It's that they're obliged to pretend they're good. They've been brought up to deceive and be cunning, to protect themselves from our society. I don't want to be like that.

I live through risk. Without risk there is no art. You should always be on the edge of a cliff about to fall down and break your neck.

A garter. You’re supposed to take it off and keep it as a memento. K-k-kinda like a trophy for going far sexually with a girl. It’s stupid, really. And kind of d-d-degrading if I think about it too m-m-much.” “I know what it is,” he says, amusement evident in his voice. “I just wanted to hear your explanation.

He laughs. "Put some clothes on so you don't scare poor Kiara with your morning hard-on." I look down at my shorts. Sure enough, I've got la tengo dura in front of Kiara and Tuck. Shit. I reach out for the first thing I can grab and put it in front of me to shield myself from view. It happens to be one of Kiara's stuffed animals, but I don't have much choice right now. "That's Kiara's Mojo," Tuck says, laughing. "Get it? Mojo?

You’re not the only one in this relationship who loves a challenge,” he says. “And just so you know for the future, I like my double-chocolate chip cookies warm and soft in the middle . . . and without magnets glued to them.

I want to make sure Kiara’s got a boyfriend who has more to offer than a hot bod and a face that could make angels weep.

I discovered very quickly that criticism is a form of optimism, and that when you are silent about the shortcomings of your society, you're very pessimistic about that society. And it's only when you speak truthfully about it that you show your faith in that society.

Incredible the animal that first dreamed of another animal.

Le démon aussi était un ange, avant...

El cielo no es alto ni bajo. Está encima y debajo de nosotros al mismo tiempo.

¿Explicarlo? No -se dijo- , creerlo, nada más. México no se explica; en México se cree, con furia, con pasión, con desaliento.

I don't think any good book is based on factual experience. Bad books are about things the writer already knew before he wrote them.

Did you know we know we are all the object of another's imagination?

Te pido, tan solo, que veas en ese gran amor que dices tenerme algo suficiente, algo que pueda llenarnos a los dos sin necesidad de recurrir a la imaginación enfermiza.

The contract between the author and the reader is a game. And the game . . . is one of the greatest invetions of Western civilization: the game of telling stories, inventing characters, and creating the imaginary paradise of the individual, from whence no one can be expelled because, in a novel, no one owns the truth and everyone has the right to be heard and understood.

...desventurado país que a cada generación tiene que destruir a los antiguos poseedores y sustuirlos por nuevos amos, tan rapaces y ambiciosos como los anteriores.

He opens his window and motions for me to open mine. When I do, he tries to say something. His voice barely carries through the sound of the rain coming down hard between us. I lean out the car window. "What?"  He leans out his window, meeting me halfway. We're both wet and soaked, but neither of us seems to care. "Don't run away from me when I need to tell you somethin' important." "What?" I say, hoping he doesn't notice the tears running down my face, and praying they're getting mixed up with the rain.  "Tonight was . . . well, it was perfect for me, too. You've turned my world upside down. I've fallen in love with you, chica, and it scares the fuckin' shit outta me. I've been shakin' all night, because I knew it. I've tried to deny it, to make you think I wanted you as a fake girlfriend, but that was a lie."  "I love you, Kiara," he says before his lips move forward and meet mine.

Si, soy un utopista. Muero soñando que la sociedad debe ser gobernada por hombres de cultura, bondad y buen gusto.

Robinson Crusoe, the first capitalist hero, is a self-made man who accepts objective reality and then fashions it to his needs through the work ethic, common sense, resilience, technology, and, if need be, racism and imperialism.

I believe in books that do not go to a ready-made public, I’m looking for readers I would like to make. To win them, to create readers rather than to give something that readers are expecting. That would bore me to death.

Originality' is the sickness of modernity that wishes to see itself as something new, always new, in order continually to witness its own birth. In doing so, modernity is that fashionable illusion which only speaks to death

The logic of the symbol does not express the experiment; it is the experiment. Language is the phenomenon, and the observation of the phenomenon changes its nature.

There must be something beyond slaughter and barbarism to support the existence of mankind and we must all help search for it.

Las imagenes del sueño alteran la realidad o la realidad se ve contaminada por el sueño

No volverás a mirar tu reloj, ese objeto inservible que mide falsamente el tiempo acordado a la vanidad humana, esas manecillas que marcan tediosamente las largas horas inventadas para engañar el verdadero tiempo, el tiempo que corre con la velocidad insultante, mortal, que ningún reloj puede medir. Una vida, un siglo, cincuenta años: ya no te será posible imaginar esas medidas mentirosas, ya no te será posible tomar entre las manos ese polvo sin cuerpo.

Tú y yo, miembros de esa masonería: la orden de la chingada. Eres quien eres porque supiste chingar y no te dejaste chingar; eres quien eres porque no supiste chingar y te dejaste chingar: cadena de la chingada que nos aprisiona a todos...

Deja que toda tu nostalgia emigre, todos tus cabos sueltos; comienza, todos los días en el parto.

She begins to feel that the reality show is the university she never attended. Vicarious reality. Emotion without a value-added tax. Movement without danger. Alma finds her reality. She no longer has a reason to put herself at risk and go out into the hostile, degrading world.

Si me hubiera detenido a pensarlo, hubiera comprendido que mi devoción no era más que una fuente de sufrimiento. Quizás por eso lo adoraba más, por esa estupidez eterna de perseguir a los que nos hacen daño" -C. R. Z.

I dalje verujem da Sunce izlazi svakoga dana i da svako novo Sunce najavljuje novi dan;dan koji je juče bio budućnost. I dalje verujem da će današnji dan, u trenutku zatvaranja jedne stranice vremena, obećati sutra – ranije nepredvidivo, kasnije neponovljivo

Normality; show me normality, señor caballero, and I will show you an exception to the abnormal order of the universe; show me a normal event and I shall call it miraculous because it is normal.

Al fin, podrás ver esos ojos de mar que fluyen, se hacen espuma, vuelven a la calma verde, vuelven a inflamarse como una ola: tu los ves y te repites que no es cierto, que son unos ojos hermosos verdes idénticos a todos los hermosos ojos verdes que has conocido o podrás conocer.

La muerte espera al más valiente, al más rico, al más bello. Pero los iguala al más cobarde, al más pobre, al más feo, no en el simple hecho de morir, ni siquiera en la conciencia de la muerte, sino en la ignorancia de la muerte. Sabemos que un día vendrá, pero nunca sabemos lo que es.

Literature is a wound from which flows the indispensable divorce between words and things. All our blood can flow out of that hole.

A veces se olvida porque el recuerdo duele y hay que creer que lo ocurrido nunca ocurrió, se olvida lo más importante porque puede ser lo mas doloroso

The novel is the privileged vehicle of two ways of being: narrative and freedom: to be new (novel) in a speech open to all, and to be free in a speech that never concludes.

يقولون إنه لابد من العزلة للوصول إلى القداسة. لقد نسوا أن إمكانيات الإغواء في العزلة تكون أكبر.

Alessandra approached the geniuses of the past to give them life with her attention, which was the form her affection took: paying attention.

عندما تجري الأمور في العلن ، لا تثير الشكوك. الأسرار هي التي تثير حاسة الشم لدى الذئاب .

—¿Me querrás siempre? —Siempre, Aura, te amaré para siempre. —¿Siempre? ¿Me lo juras? —Te lo juro. —¿Aunque envejezca? ¿Aunque pierda mi belleza? ¿Aunque tenga el pelo blanco? —Siempre, mi amor, siempre. —¿Aunque muera, Felipe? ¿Me amarás siempre, aunque muera? —Siempre, siempre. Te lo juro. Nada puede separarme de ti.

Perdiste tu inocencia en el mundo de afuera. No podrás recuperarla aquí adentro, en el mundo de los afectos. Quizá tuviste tu jardín. Yo también tuve el mío, mi pequeño paraíso. Ahora ambos lo hemos perdido. Trata de recordar. No puedes encontrar en mí lo que ya sacrificaste, lo que ya perdiste para siempre y por tu propia obra. No sé de dónde vienes. No sé qué has hecho. Sólo sé que en tu vida perdiste lo que después me hiciste perder a mí: el sueño, la inocencia. Ya nunca seremos los mismos.

What is the strongest pretext for loving?...If it is necessary, our atomized consciousness invents love, imagines it or feigns it, but does not live without it, since in the midst of infinite dispersion, love, even if as a pretext , gives us the measure of our loss.

Sólo el imbécil no duda. Sólo el idiota no sufre".

Language is always the companion of Empire and Empire . . . is one Monarch and one Sword.

Finished, the book begins.

He thought that even naturalness can be feigned; at times, a mask disguises too well the expressions of a face that does not exist either outside or under it.

También el demonio fue un ángel, antes…

Hay que morir antes de renacer.

Fíjate qué simple es -le dijo a Amaranta-. Dice que se está muriendo por mi, como si yo fuera un cólico miserere

México es un país de fatalidades dinámicas... un país con demasiadas insatisfacciones sepultadas en el tiempo, largos siglos de pobreza, de injusticia, de sueños soterrados.

El muerto no sabe lo que es la muerte, pero los vivos tampoco

Celos es dar la importancia a la persona que quisieramos sólo para nosotros... la envidía es una ponzoña impotente, queremos ser el otro. El celo es generoso, queremos que el otro sea mío

I, _______________________, certify that by signing below I agree to abide by the rules outlined in the REACH Handbook. I understand the rules, which have been properly explained to me by a REACH staff member. I further acknowledge that if I disregard the rules for any reason I will be subject to disciplinary action which may include in-house detention, additional counseling, and/or expulsion from the REACH program. What it really means: I, __________________, sign my freedom over to REACH staff. By signing this piece of paper, I certify that my life will be dictated by other people and I'll live a miserable existence while I'm in Colorado.

The great wheel of fire of ancient wisdom, silence and word engendering the myth of the origin, human action engendering the epic voyage toward the other; historical violence revealing the tragic flaw of the hero who must then return to the land of origin; myth of death and renewal and silence from which new words and images will arise, keeps on turning in spite of the blindness of purely lineal thought.

El político puede pagarle al intelectual. Pero no puede confiar en él. El intelectual acabará por disentir y para el político esta será siempre una traición. Malicioso o ingenuo, maquiavélico o utópico, el poderoso siempre creerá que tiene la razón y el que se opone a él es un traidor o, por lo menos, alguien dispensable.

And don't give me the same old story: "We're in Mexico. Pray." You'd be better off taking a snake rattle.

La mejor manera de esconderse es mostrarse. Si nos buscan creyendo que hemos desaparecido, nunca nos encontraran en el lugar más obvio.

¿Cuánto durarán las nuevas mansiones de nuestro único dios, construidas sobre las ruinas de no uno, sino mil dioses?

Nor is the limitation of what is sayable a limit to the doable: this last is the possibility of literature.

Pierwszy z rodu jest przywiazany do drzewa, a ostatniego zjadaja mrowki.

And the frontier in here?" the North American woman had asked, tapping her forehead. "And the frontier in hear?" General Arroyo had responded, touching his heart. "There's one frontier we only dare to cross at night," the old gringo said. "The frontier of our differences with others, of our battles with ourselves.

Y cuando te estés secando, recordarás a la vieja y a la joven que te sonrieron, abrazadas, antes de salir juntas, abrazadas: te repites que siempre, cuando están juntas, hacen exactamente lo mimo: se abrazan, sonríen, comen, hablan, entran, salen, al mismo tiempo, como si una imitara a la otra, como si de la voluntad de una dependiese la existencia de la otra.

Permaneces allí, olvidado de los papeles amarillos, de tus propias cuartillas anotadas, pensando sólo en la belleza inasible de tu Aura -mientras más pienses en ella, más tuya la harás, no sólo porque piensas en su belleza y la deseas, sino porque ahora la deseas para liberarla: habrás encontrado una razón moral para tu deseo; te sentirás inocente y satisfecho-

No volverás a mirar tu reloj, ese objeto inservible que mide falsamente un tiempo acordado a la vanidad humana, esas manecillas que marcan tediosamente las largas horas inventadas para engañar el verdadero tiempo, el tiempo que corre con la velocidad insultante, mortal, que ningún reloj puede medir.

Since I neither want not can influence the events of the world, my mission is to preserve the internal integrity and equilibrium of my mind; that will be in which the manor in which I recover the purity of the original act; I shall be my own citadel, and to it I shall retire to protect myself against a hostile and corrupt world. I shall be my own citadel and, within it, my own and only citizen.

Because it’s a fucking disaster to be creative when you know you’re not Mozart or Keats. Dammit, I got tired of scratching around in my past. There’s nothing in me to justify the pretension of creativity. This came before anything, before you, before Raquel, this is a matter of my own emptiness, my awareness of my own limits, maybe my sterility. Does what I’m saying to you seem awful? Now you want to come along and sell me an illusion, which I don’t believe in but which does make me believe that either you’re a fool or you underestimate my intelligence. Why don’t you just leave me alone, so I can fill the emptiness in my own way? Let me see things for myself, learn if something can still grow in my soul, an idea, a faith, because I swear to you, Laura, my soul is more desolate than this rock landscape you see here… why?

You know what you need?” “What?” “You need to think about what a badass bald man would do in this situation” “There are no badass bald men. By definition.” “What about Dwight D. Eisenhower?” Carlos suggested. “President Eisenhower?” “Doesn’t he qualify as a badass?” Carlos insisted. “Look, he may have been president, but he doesn’t exactly come to people’s minds when you ask them to think of a badass.” “All right. How about Kojak?” Carlos asked. “That police detective show with Telly Savalas?” Sammy asked. “Yeah, Kojak. He was a badass. Always cool under pressure.” “All right,” Sammy replied. “Let’s just say, for the sake of argument, that Kojak was a bald badass. So what?’ “So you have to imagine how Kojak would deal with this situation we have in front of us. He wouldn’t be worried about whether this girl digs bald guys. He would just walk right up to her, knowing that he’s a badass and just take care of business. You see, it’s all in the delivery.” “The delivery?” “Yeah, the execution

It infuriates him, this killing, this death. Infuriating that this is what we’re known for now, drug cartels and slaughter. This my city of Avenida 16 Septembre, the Victoria Theater, cobblestone streets, the bullring, La Central, La Fogata, more bookstores than El Paso, the university, the ballet, garapiñados, pan dulce, the mission, the plaza, the Kentucky Bar, Fred’s—now it’s known for these idiotic thugs. And my country, Mexico—the land of writers and poets—of Octavio Paz, Juan Rulfo, Carlos Fuentes, Elena Garro, Jorge Volpi, Rosario Castellanos, Luis Urrea, Elmer Mendoza, Alfonso Reyes—the land of painters and sculptors—Diego Rivera, Frida Kahlo, Gabriel Orozco, Pablo O’Higgins, Juan Soriano, Francisco Goitia—of dancers like Guillermina Bravo, Gloria and Nellie Campobello, Josefina Lavalle, Ana Mérida, and composers—Carlos Chávez, Silvestre Revueltas, Agustín Lara, Blas Galindo—architects—Luis Barragán, Juan O’Gorman, Tatiana Bilbao, Michel Rojkind, Pedro Vásquez—wonderful filmmakers—Fernando de Fuentes, Alejandro Iñárritu, Luis Buñuel, Alfonso Cuarón, Guillermo del Toro—actors like Dolores del Río, “La Doña” María Félix, Pedro Infante, Jorge Negrete, Salma Hayek—now the names are “famous” narcos—no more than sociopathic murderers whose sole contribution to the culture has been the narcocorridas sung by no-talent sycophants. Mexico, the land of pyramids and palaces, deserts and jungles, mountains and beaches, markets and gardens, boulevards and cobblestoned streets, broad plazas and hidden courtyards, is now known as a slaughter ground. And for what? So North Americans can get high.

Carlos, your mysophobia does affect my health. I feel freer – more alive, more vivacious and, ironically enough, healthier – if I’m not constantly made to worry about germs and unhealthy choices. Whether it’s for a moment of spontaneous kissing in a phone booth or eating an occasional hamburger…Obsessing about your health doesn’t actually make you healthier. The fact of the matter is, Carlos, our bodies are decaying at every moment, regardless of what we do. Living is bad for your health.” “It doesn’t have to be.” “Maybe if you live in an antiseptic bubble specially designed by the CDC it doesn’t. But in a place like New York City, you’re fighting a pointless battle. You can either embrace the dirt and the germs as part of the risky joy of living in an exciting, overpopulated metropolis, or you can spend lots of mental real estate obsessing over whether you touched a few extra microbes when you got on the subway.