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Quote by Pierenrico Gottero

“It was then that I understood something essential: once a book is published, it no longer belongs to you. It takes on a life of its own. It begins to walk on its own legs, like a child who has chosen a direction. And most of all, no reader simply reads it — they see themselves reflected in it. And what they see — or what they refuse to see — depends far more on them than on you.”

Quote by Pierenrico Gottero

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The Island of What Could Have Been: Back to the Middle Lands

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Pierenrico Gottero

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“In repressing and censoring the literary genre specifically invented to give "the necessity of lying" a place in the world, the Inquisitors achieved exactly the opposite of what they wanted. Theirs was a world without novels, yes, but also a world into which fiction had spread and contaminated practically everything: history, religion, poetry, science, art, speeches, journalism, and the daily habits of people.”

“We still are victims, in Latin America, of what we could call 'the revenge of the novel.' We still have great difficulty in our countries in differentiating between fiction and reality. We are traditionally accustomed to mix them in such a way that this is, probably, one of the reasons why we are so impractical and inept in political matters, for instance. But some good came also from this novelization of our whole life. Books such as Marquez's One Hundred Years of Solitude, Cortázar's short stories, and Roa Bastos's novels would not have been possible otherwise.”

“بی قصد گفتم: (( بعضی اوقات از خودم می پرسم، واقعا آزاد بودن چه معنی ای دارد.)) - من فکر می کنم که آزادی نمی تواند جز کمی بی گدار زدن به آب باشد . آزادی تعادلی متزلزل است، کمی خارج از حد و‌ مرز بودن.”

“I felt truly ashamed when I spat blood onto the street and caught her frightened gaze. I felt sorry for her; she seemed too delicate, as if she'd never seen someone in pain before. She looked like a butterfly; hazel eyes, hair neatly braided, a broad white forehead with a few strands of brown hair falling across it. Her beauty was simple; the kind one passes every day without a second glance. So why was I drawn to her, of all the faces around me, faces filled with judgment as I collapsed on the street? From Whispers along the Strings of Love”