“...atendía la vida como quien come distraído.”

Felisberto Hernandez

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Quote by Felisberto Hernandez: “...atendía la vida como quien come distraído.” - Image 1

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“Ahora han pasados unos instantes en que la imaginación, como insecto de la noche, ha salido de la sala para recordar los gustos del verano y ha volado distancias que ni el vértigo ni la noche conocen. Pero la imaginación tampoco sabe quién es la noche, quién elige dentro de ella lugares del paisaje, donde un cavador da vuelta la tierra de la memoria y la siembra de nuevo. Al mismo tiempo alguien hecha a los pies de la imaginación pedazos de pasado y la imaginación elige apresurada con un pequeño farol que mueve, agita y entrevera los pedazos y las sombras. De pronto se le cae el pequeño farol en la tierra de la memoria y todo se apaga. Entonces la imaginación vuelve a ser insecto que vuela olvidando las distancias y se posa en el borde del presente." --El caballo perdido”


“I was in the situation of someone who has assumed, all his life, that madness was on eway, and suddenly in its grip, discovers that it is not only different from the way he'd imagined but that the person suffering from it is someone else, and that this someone else is not interested in finding out what madness is like: he is simply immersed in it, or it has descended on him, and that's that.”


“I do not believe that I should only write about what I know but that I should write also of the other.”


“Porque la muerte puede ser cualquier cosa. Un girasol recién cortado o un revólver humeante. O el rostro de la primera mujer que amamos cuando aún éramos niños y no sabíamos el tamaño de la desdicha que alberga la vida.”


“Ahí viene la nochelo mas probable es que duermasahí viene la nochelo mas seguro es que mueras”


“One night, walking on the street in the Colonia Portales, I become startled by my own train of thought. I am desperately poor right now, surviving on coffee, orange juice, and beer ('grain juice'), and tacos. Gigs for writers don't come easy. I am angry and depressed and feverish. I had moved to Mexico City on a whim and I knew it would be hard. What I fail to expect is that the delinquency mind-set would take over my brain. Who would stop me, I think, who would catch me, if I hop into that cab coming my way and start barking directions? Who would know or care if I held a knife to the driver's throat, demanded all his money, and threatened to kill him if he made any further moves? How would I feel when I got home at night, finally able to eat properly? p 123-4”