“That was the summer when everything we would become was hovering just over our heads.”

“In a better world I would have kissed her over the ice trays and that would have been the end of all our troubles. But you know exactly what kind of world we live in. It ain't no fucking Middle-earth. I just nodded my head, said, See you around, Lola, and drove home.”

“Her rage filled the house, flat stale smoke. It got into everything, into our hair and our food, like the fallout they talked to us about in school that would one day drift down soft as snow.”

“We all dream dreams of unity, of purity; we all dream that there's an authoritative voice out there that will explain things, including ourselves. If it wasn't for our longing for these things, I doubt the novel or the short story would exist in its current form. I'm not going to say much more on the topic. Just remember: In dictatorships, only one person is really allowed to speak. And when I write a book or a story, I too am the only one speaking, no matter how I hide behind my characters.”

“It's just a matter of willpower. The day you decide it's over, it's over. You never get over it.”

“Lola swore she would never return to that terrible country. On one of our last nights as novios she said, Ten million Trujillos is all we are.”

“We were about to hit the door when she returned, panting, an envelope of cold around her.Where did you go? I asked.I went for a walk. She dropped her coat at the door; her face was red from the cold and she was breathing deeply, as if she’d sprinted the last thirty steps.Where?Just around the corner.Why the hell did you do that?She started to cry, and when Rafa put his hand on her waist, she slapped it away. We went back to our room.I think she’s losing it, I said.She’s just lonely, Rafa said.”