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“Never before had I felt trapped, so seduced and caught up in a story,' Clara explained, 'the way I did with that book. Until then, reading was just a duty, a sort of fine one had to pay teachers and tutors without quite knowing why. I had never known the pleasure of reading, of exploring the recesses of the soul, of letting myself be carried away by imagination, beauty, and the mystery of fiction and language. For me all those things were born with that novel. This is a world of shadows, Daniel, and magic is a rare asset. That book taught me that by reading, I could live more intensely. It could give me back the sight I had lost. For that reason alone, a book that didn't matter to anyone, changed my life.”

“I still remember the day my father took me to the Cemetery of Forgotten Books for the first time. It was the early summer of 1945, and we walked through the streets of a Barcelona trapped beneath ashen skies as dawn poured over Rambla de Santa Monica in a wreath of liquid copper.”

“This is a place of mystery, Daniel, a sanctuary. Every book, every volume you see here, has a soul. The soul of the person who wrote it and of those who read it and lived and dreamed with it. Every time a book changes hands, every time someone runs his eyes down its pages, its spirit grows and strengthens. This place was already ancient when my father brought me here for the first time, many years ago. Perhaps as old as the city itself. Nobody knows for certain how long it has existed, or who created it. I will tell you what my father told me, though. When a library disappears, or a bookshop closes down, when a book is consigned to oblivion, those of us who know this place, its guardians, make sure that it gets here. In this place, books no longer remembered by anyone, books that are lost in time, live forever, waiting for the day when they will reach a new reader's hands. In the shop we buy and sell them, but in truth books have no owner. Every book you here has been somebody's best friend. Now they only have us, Daniel. Do you think you'll be able to keep such a secret?' My gaze was lost in the immensity of the place and its sorcery of light. I nodded, and my father smiled.”

“Julian, locul acesta este o taină, un sanctuar. Fiecare carte, fiecare tom pe care-l vezi are suflet. Sufletul celui care a scris-o și sufletul celor care au citit-o, au trăit și au visat cu ea. De fiecare dată când o carte ajunge în mâinile altcuiva, de fiecare dată când altcineva îți lasă privirea să alunece pe paginile ei, un spirit crește și se face tot mai puternic. Când bunicul tău m-a adus aici, cu mulți ani în urmă, locul acesta era deja vechi. Poate că e la fel de vechi ca orașul însuși. Nimeni nu știe exact de când există sau cine l-a creat. O să-ți spun ce mi-a spus și mie bunicul tău. Când piere o bibliotecă sau se închide o librărie, când o carte dispare în noianul uitării, cei care știm de existența acestui loc, paznicii lui, facem tot ce trebuie pentru ca ea să ajungă aici. În locul acesta cărțile de care nu-și mai amintește nimeni, cărțile pierdute în negura timpului, continuă să trăiască, așteptând ca într-o bună zi să ajungă din nou în mâinile unui nou cititor, ale unui nou spirit. La librăria noastră vindem cărți noi și cumpărăm cărți vechi, dar în realitate cărțile nu au stăpân. Fiecare carte de aici a fost cel mai bun prieten al cuiva. Acum ne mai are doar pe noi, Julian. Vei putea păstra secretul acesta?”

“La mayoría de los mortales nunca llegamos a conocer nuestro verdadero destino; simplemente somos atropellados por él. Para cuando levantamos la cabeza y lo vamos alejarse por la carretera ya es tarde, y el resto del camino lo tenemos que hacer por la cuneta de aquello que los soñadores llaman madurez. La esperanza no es más que la fe de que ese momento no haya llegado todavía, de que acertemos ver nuestro verdadero destino cuando se acerque y podamos saltar a bordo antes de que la oportunidad de ser nosotros mismos se desvanezca para siempre y nos condene a vivir de vacío, añorando lo que debió ser y nunca fue.”

“I knew then that I would devote every minute we had left together to making her happy, to repairing the pain I had caused her and returning to her what I never known how to give her. These pages will be our memory until she drows her last breath in my arms and I take her forever and escape at last to a place where neither heaven nor hell will ever be able to find us.”