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... , listening to the storm outside as it left the city, knowing that I was going to lose her but also knowing that, for a few minutes, we had belonged to one another, and to nobody else.

Carlos Ruiz Zafon

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Carlos Ruiz Zafon
Age: 55 †
Born: 1964
Born: September 25
Died: 2020
Died: June 19
Novelist
Publicist
Screenwriter
Barcelona
Spain
Carlos Ruiz Zafon
Else
Listening
Another
Nobody
Also
Minutes
Going
Lose
Cities
Belonged
Loses
Storm
Knowing
City
Left
Outside

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It's only worth staying in bed if you're young and in good company.
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Truth is, only the useless get to the top in this country.
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Our world will not die as the result of the bomb, as the papers say, it will die of laughter, of banality, or making a joke of everything, and a lousy joke at that.
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I leafed through the pages, inhaling the enchanted scent of promise that comes with all new books, and stopped to read the start of a sentence that caught my eye.
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I don't care what happens in 100 years. I won't be around.
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It's hard work, writing, you know. Honestly, a fight every day against your own limitations. You have to squeeze books out of your brain, you're constantly trying to solve challenges. I think most writers enjoy the feeling of having written something, rather than the process of writing it.
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While you're working, you don't have to look life in the eye.
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Whoever said that childhood is the happiest time of your life is a liar, or a fool.
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There are people you remember and people you dream of.
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He didn't know whether we created God in our own image or whether God created us without quite knowing what he was doing. He believed that God, or whatever brought us here, lives in each of our deeds, in each of our words, and manifests himself in all those things that show us to be more than mere figures of clay.
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The teachers tried everything, even pleading, but Tomas was in the habit of addressing them only in Latin, a language he spoke with papal fluency and in which he did not stammer. Sooner or later they all resigned in despair, fearing he might be possessed: he might be spouting demonic instructions in Aramaic at them, for all they knew.
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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.
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I think you judge yourself too severely, a quality that always distinguishes people of true worth.
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Paris is the only city in the world where starving to death is still considered an art.
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Once you lost all hope, time began to go faster and the senseless days deadened your soul.
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The nurse knew that those who really love, love in silence, with deeds and not with words.
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Everything is a tale, Martin. What we believe, what we know, what we remember, even what we dream. Everything is a story, a narrative, a sequence of events with characters communicating an emotional content. We only accept as true what can be narrated.
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A man must have vices, expensive ones if possible. Otherwise when he reaches old age he will have nothing to be redeemed from.
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This cures everything except stupidity, which is an epidemic on the rise.
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In the shop we buy and sell them, but in truth books have no owner. Every book you see here has been somebody’s best friend.
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