The Labyrinth of the Spirits (The Cemetery of Forgotten Books, #4)
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When I was young I thought that in order to sail through the world you only needed to do three things well. First, tie your shoelaces properly. Second: undress a woman conscientiously. And third: read a few pages for pleasure every day, pages written with inspiration and skill.
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“Don’t lose hope. If there’s anything I’ve learned from this lousy world, it’s that destiny is always just around the corner. It might look like a thief, a hooker, or a lottery vendor, its three most usual personifications. And if you ever decide to go and find it—remember, destiny doesn’t make house calls—you’ll see that it will grant you a second chance.”
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The world is simply the reflection of those of us who make it up.
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“There are no modest books, only arrogant ignorance.”
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promises were a bit like hearts: once the first was broken, breaking the rest was a piece of cake.
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When you’re young, you see the world as it should be, and when you’re old you start to see it as it really is.
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Doña Lorena said that the level of barbarism in a society is measured by the distance it tries to create between women and books. “Nothing frightens a loutish person more than a woman who knows how to read, write, and think, and moreover shows her knees.”
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He never tired of telling me that in literature there is only one real theme: not what is narrated, but how it is narrated. The rest, he said, was decoration.
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People live inside their hopes, but the landlord of fate is the devil.
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“Will you come back to Barcelona one day? This city is bewitched, you know. It gets under your skin and never lets go . . .”
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“Everything in life has been done by someone before, at least anything worth doing,” I said. “The trick is to try to do it a bit better.”
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we exist so long as someone remembers us.