The rain was still crashing down, angrily machine-gunning the large windows; it poured through the gutters up in the tower and funneled along the flat roof, sounding like footsteps on the ceiling. Carlos Ruiz Zafon More Quotes by Carlos Ruiz Zafon More Quotes From Carlos Ruiz Zafon He lost himself in the words and images conjured in his mind and for a while forgot ... He found himself flying among stars and planets. Carlos Ruiz Zafon flying stars mind Never trust anyone, Daniel, especially the people you admire. Those are the ones who will make you suffer the worst blows. Carlos Ruiz Zafon suffering blow people A man must have vices, expensive ones if possible. Otherwise when he reaches old age he will have nothing to be redeemed from. Carlos Ruiz Zafon vices age men I was secretly convinced that with such a marvel one would be able to write anything, from novels to encyclopedias, and letters whose supernatural power would surpass any postal limitations--a letter written with that pen would reach the most remote corners of the world, even that unknowable place to which my father said my mother had gone and from where she would never return. Carlos Ruiz Zafon mother writing father People talk too much. Humans aren't descended from monkeys. They come from parrots. Carlos Ruiz Zafon monkeys too-much people Every work of art is aggressive, Isabella. And every artist's life is a small war or a large one, beginning with oneself and one's limitations. To achieve anything you must first have ambition and then talent, knowledge, and finally the opportunity. Carlos Ruiz Zafon ambition war art I swim against the tide because I like to annoy. Carlos Ruiz Zafon tides annoying swim A writer never forgets the first time he accepted a few coins or a word of praise in exchange for a story. He will never forget the sweet poison of vanity in his blood and the belief that, if he succeeds in not letting anyone discover his lack of talent, the dream of literature will provide him with a roof over his head, a hot meal at the end of the day, and what he covets the most: his name printed on a miserable piece of paper that surely will outlive him. A writer is condemned to remember that moment, because from then on he is doomed and his soul has a price. Carlos Ruiz Zafon dream sweet blood Army, Marriage, the Church, and Baking: the Four Horseman of the Apocalypse. Fermin Romero de Torres - The Shadow of the Wind. Carlos Ruiz Zafon four-horsemen-of-the-apocalypse army wind We are willing to believe anything other than the truth. Carlos Ruiz Zafon willing believe It seems that in the advanced stages of stupidity, a lack of ideas is compensated for by an excess of ideologies. Carlos Ruiz Zafon excess stupidity ideas God gives us life, but the world's landlord is the devil. Carlos Ruiz Zafon devil giving world It is difficult to hate an idea. That requires a certain intellectual discipline and a slightly obsessive, sick mind. There aren’t too many of those. It’s much easier to hate someone with a recognizable face whom we can blame for everything that makes us feel uncomfortable. It doesn’t have to be an individual character. It could be a nation, a race, a group. . .anything. Carlos Ruiz Zafon hate race character One of the pitfalls of childhood is that one doesn't have to understand something to feel it. By the time the mind is able to comprehend what has happened, the wounds of the heart are already too deep. Carlos Ruiz Zafon childhood mind heart Do you know the best thing about broken hearts? They can only really break once the rest is just scratches. Carlos Ruiz Zafon scratches broken heart Literature, at least good literature, is science tempered with the blood of art. Like architecture or music. Carlos Ruiz Zafon literature blood art The nurse knew that those who really love, love in silence, with deeds and not with words. Carlos Ruiz Zafon silence deeds nurse Sometimes we think people are like lottery tickets, that they're there to make our most absurd dreams come true. Carlos Ruiz Zafon dream people thinking Destiny is usually just around the corner. Like a thief, a hooker, or a lottery vendor: its three most common personifications. But what destiny does not do is home visits. You have to go for it. Carlos Ruiz Zafon visits-you destiny home As it unfolded, the structure of the story began to remind me of one of those Russian dolls that contain innumerable ever-smaller dolls within. Step by step the narrative split into a thousand stories, as if it had entered a gallery of mirrors, its identity fragmented into endless reflections. Carlos Ruiz Zafon mirrors identity reflection
