Genesis Quotes

“Cuando terminó el largo abrazo, un aroma espeso, de flores y frutas, invadió el aire. De los cuerpos, que yacían juntos, se desprendían vapores y fulgores jamás vistos, y era tanta su hermosura que se morían de vergüenza los soles y los dioses.”
― Eduardo Galeano, Memoria del fuego. Vol. 1: Los nacimientos

“Los guaraos, que habitan los suburbios del Paraíso Terrenal, llaman al arcoiris "serpiente de collares" y "mar de arriba" al firmamento.
El rayo es "el resplandor de la lluvia".
El amigo, "mi otro corazón".
El alma, "El sol del pecho"
La lechuza, "el amo de la noche oscura."
Para decir bastón dicen "nieto continuo";
Y para decir perdono, dicen "olvido".”
― Eduardo Galeano, Genesis

“El sacrilegio (1946)
Bartolomé Colón, hermano y lugarteniente de Cristóbal, asiste al incendio de carne humana.
Seis hombres estrenan el quemadero de Haití. EL humo hace toser. Los seis están ardiendo por castigo y escarmiento: han hundido bajo tierra las imágenes de Cristo y la Virgen que fray Ramón Panè les había dejado para su protección y consuelo. Fray Ramón les había enseñado a orar de rodillas, a decir Avemaría y Paternóster y a invocar el nombre de Jesús ante la tentación, la lastimadura y la muerte.
Nadie les ha preguntado por qué enterraron las imágenes. Ellos esperaban que los nuevos dioses fecundaran las siembras de maíz, yuca, boniatos y fríjoles.
El fuego agrega calor al calor húmedo, pegajoso, anunciador de lluvia fuerte.”
― Eduardo Hughes Galeano, Genesis

“Ballad of Cuzco

A llama wished
to have golden hair,
brilliant as the sun,
strong as love
and soft as the mist
that the dawn dissolves,
to weave a braid
on which to mark,
knot by knot,
the moons that pass,
the flowers that die

-- Salazar Bondy, Sebastián (ed.). Poesía quechua. Montevideo; Arca, 1978. Translated by Eduardo Galeano.”
― Eduardo Galeano, Memoria del fuego 1: Los nacimientos (Biblioteca Eduardo Galeano)

“The Evening Star

The moon, stooping mother, asked her son, "I don't know where your father is. Find him and give him word of me."

The son took off in search of the brightest of all lights. He didn't find him at noontime, when the sun of the Tarascan people drinks his wine and dances with his women to the beat of drums. He didn't find him on the horizons and in the regions of the dead. The sun wasn't in any of his four houses.

The evening star is still hunting his father across the sky. He always arrives too early or too late.”
― Eduardo Galeano, Memoria del fuego 1: Los nacimientos (Biblioteca Eduardo Galeano)

“1496: La Conceptión Sacrilege Bartholomew Columbus, Christopher’s brother and lieutenant, attends an incineration of human flesh. Six men play the leads in the grand opening of Haiti’s incinerator. The smoke makes everyone cough. The six are burning as a punishment and as a lesson: They have buried the images of Christ and the Virgin that Fray Ramon Pane left with them for protection and consolation. Fray Ramon taught them to pray on their knees, to say the Ave Maria and Paternoster and to invoke the name of Jesus in the face of temptation, injury, and death. No one has asked them why they buried the images. They were hoping that the new gods would fertilize their fields of corn, cassava, boniato, and beans. The fire adds warmth to the humid, sticky heat that foreshadows heavy rain. (103)”
― Eduardo Galeano, Genesis

“1495: Salamanca The First Word from America Elio Antonio de Nebrija, language scholar, publishes here his “Spanish-Latin Vocabulary.” The dictionary includes the first Americanism of the Castilian language: Canoa: Boat made from a single timber. The new word comes from the Antilles. These boats without sails, made of the trunk of a ceiba tree, welcomed Christopher Columbus. Out from the islands, paddling canoes, came the men with long black hair and bodies tattooed with vermilion symbols. They approached the caravels, offered fresh water, and exchanged gold for the kind of little tin bells that sell for a copper in Castile. (52”
― Eduardo Galeano, Genesis

“Magic An extremely old Tukuna woman chastised some young girls who had denied her food. During the night she tore the bones out of their legs and devoured the marrow, so the girls could never walk again. In her infancy, soon after birth, the old woman had received from a frog the powers of healing and vengeance. The frog had taught her to cure and kill, to hear unhearable voices and see unseeable colors. She learned to defend herself before she learned to talk. Before she could walk she already knew how to be where she wasn’t, because the shafts of love and hate instantly pierce the densest jungles and deepest rivers. When the Tukunas cut off her head, the old woman collected her own blood in her hands and blew it toward the sun. “My soul enters you, too!” she shouted. Since then anyone who kills receives in his body, without wanting or knowing it, the soul of his victim. (112)”
― Eduardo Galeano, Genesis

“Death The first of the Modoc Indians, Kumokums, built a village on the banks of a river. Although it left the bears plenty of room to curl up and sleep, the deer complained that it was very cold and there wasn’t enough grass. Kumokums built another village far from there and decided to spend half of every year in each. For this he divided the year into two parts, six moons of summer and six of winter, and the remaining moon was dedicated to moving. Life between the two villages was as happy as could be, and births multiplied amazingly; but people who died refused to get out, and the population got so big that there was no way to feed it. Then Kumokums decided to throw out the dead people. He knew that the chief of the land of the dead was a great man and didn’t mistreat anybody. Soon afterward Kumokums’s small daughter died. She died and left the country of the Modocs, as her father had ordered. In despair, Kumokums consulted the porcupine. “You made the decision,” said the porcupine, “and now you must take the consequences like anyone else.” But Kumokums journeyed to the far-off land of the dead and claimed his daughter. “Now your daughter is my daughter,” said the big skeleton in charge there. “She has no flesh or blood. What can she do in your country?” “I want her anyway,” said Kumokums. The chief of the land of the dead thought for a long time. “Take her,” he yielded, and warned, “Shell walk behind you. On approaching the country of the living, flesh will return to cover her bones. But you may not turn around till you arrive. Understand? I give you this chance.” Kumokums set out. The daughter walked behind him. Several times he touched her hand, which was more fleshy and warm each time, and still he didn’t look back. But when the green woods appeared on the horizon he couldn’t stand the strain and turned his head. A handful of bones crumbled before his eyes. (132)”
― Eduardo Galeano, Genesis

“The Rabbit The rabbit wanted to grow. God promised to increase his size if he would bring him the skins of a tiger, of a monkey, of a lizard, and of a snake. The rabbit went to visit the tiger. “God has let me into a secret,” he said confidentially. The tiger wanted to know it, and the rabbit announced an impending hurricane. “I’ll save myself because I’m small. I’ll hide in some hole. But what’ll you do? The hurricane won’t spare you.” A tear rolled down between the tiger’s mustaches. “I can think of only one way to save you,” said the rabbit. “We’ll look for a tree with a very strong trunk. I’ll tie you to the trunk by the neck and paws, and the hurricane won’t carry you off.” The grateful tiger let himself be tied. Then the rabbit killed him with one blow, stripped him, and went on his way into the woods of the Zapotec country. He stopped under a tree in which a monkey was eating. Taking a knife, the rabbit began striking his own neck with the blunt side of it. With each blow of the knife, a chuckle. After much hitting and chuckling, he left the knife on the ground and hopped away. He hid among the branches, on the watch. The monkey soon climbed down. He examined the object that made one laugh, and he scratched his head. He seized the knife and at the first blow fell with his throat cut. Two skins to go. The rabbit invited the lizard to play ball. The ball was of stone. He hit the lizard at the base of the tail and left him dead. Near the snake, the rabbit pretended to be asleep. Just as the snake was tensing up, before it could jump, the rabbit plunged his claws into its eyes. He went to the sky with the four skins. “Now make me grow,” he demanded. And God thought, “The rabbit is so small, yet he did all this. If I make him bigger, what won’t he do? If the rabbit were big, maybe I wouldn’t be God.” The rabbit waited. God came up softly, stroked his back, and suddenly caught him by the ears, whirled him about, and threw him to the ground. Since then the rabbit has had big ears, short front feet from having stretching them out to break his fall, and pink eyes from panic. (92)”
― Eduardo Galeano, Genesis

“Popular Couplets of the Bashful Lover

I want to say and I don't,
I'm speaking without any word.
I want to love and I don't
And I'm loving without being heard.
I've a pain from I don't know where,
That comes from I don't know what.
I'll be cured I don't know when
By someone whose name I forgot.
Each time you look at me
And I at you
With my eyes I say
What I don't say.
As I don't find you
I look, to remind you.

-- Cantos populares españoles. Seville: Álvarez, 1882-83. Translated by Eduardo Galeano.”
― Eduardo Galeano, Memoria del fuego 1: Los nacimientos (Biblioteca Eduardo Galeano)

“Bir Guarani çocuğu öldüğünde onun bir çiçeğin çanağında yatan ruhunu kurtarır,uzun iğne gagasında tutarak Kötülük Olmayan Ülke'ye götürür.”
― Eduardo Galeano, Genesis

“Tanrılar ateşi alıp götürdüklerinden geceler buz gibiydi. Soğuk bir bıçak gibi kesiyordu insanların etini ve sözlerini.”
― Eduardo Galeano, Genesis

“En épocas remotas, las mujeres se sentaban en la proa de la canoa y los hombres en la popa. Eran las mujeres quienes cazaban y pescaban. Ellas salían de las aldeas y volvían cuando podían o querían. Los hombres montaban las chozas, preparaban la comida, mantenían encendidas las fogatas contra el frío, cuidaban a los hijos y curtían las pieles de abrigo.
Así era la vida entre los indios onas y los yaganes, en la Tierra del Fuego, hasta que un día los hombres mataron a todas las mujeres y se pusieron las máscaras que las mujeres habían inventado para darles terror.
Solamente las niñas recién nacidas se salvaron del exterminio. Mientras ellas crecían, los asesinos les decían y les repetían que servir a los hombres era su destino. Ellas lo creyeron. También lo creyeron sus hijas y las hijas de sus hijas...”
― Eduardo Galeano, Genesis

“Fear These incredible bodies called to them, but the Nivakle men dared not enter. They had seen the women eat: they swallowed the flesh of fish with the upper mouth, but chewed it first with the lower mouth. Between their legs they had teeth. So the men lit bonfires, called to the women, and sang and danced for them. The women sat around in a circle with their legs crossed. The men danced all through the night. They undulated, turned, and flew like smoke and birds. When dawn came they fell fainting to the ground. The women gently lifted them and gave them water to drink. Where they had been sitting, the ground was all littered with teeth. (192)”
― Eduardo Galeano, Genesis

“Cassava No man had touched her, but a boy-child grew in the belly of the chief’s daughter. They called him Mani. A few days after birth he was already running and talking. From the forest’s farthest corners people came to meet the prodigious Mani. Mani caught no disease, but on reaching the age of one, he said, “I’m going to die,” and he died. A little time passed, and on Mani’s grave sprouted a plant never before seen, which the mother watered every morning. The plant grew, flowered, and gave fruit. The birds that picked at it flew strangely, fluttering in mad spirals and singing like crazy. One day the ground where Mani lay split open. The chief thrust his hand in and pulled out a big, fleshy root. He grated it with a stone, made a dough, wrung it out, and with the warmth of the fire cooked bread for everyone. They called the root mani oca, “house of Mani,” and manioc is its name in the Amazon basin and other places. (174)”
― Eduardo Galeano, Genesis

“Maté The moon was simply dying to tread the earth. She wanted to sample the fruit and to bathe in some river. Thanks to the clouds, she was able to come down. From sunset until dawn, clouds covered the sky so that no one could see the moon was missing. Nighttime on the earth was marvelous. The moon strolled through the forest of the high Paranà, caught mysterious aromas and flavors, and had a long swim in the river. Twice an old peasant rescued her. When the jaguar was about to sink his teeth into the moon’s neck, the old man cut the beasts throat with his knife; and when the moon got hungry, he took her to his house. “We offer you our poverty,” said the peasant’s wife, and gave her some corn tortillas. On the next night the moon looked down from the sky at her friends’ house. The old peasant had built his hut in a forest clearing very far from the villages. He lived there like an exile with his wife and daughter. The moon found that the house had nothing left in it to eat. The last corn tortillas had been for her. Then she turned on her brightest light and asked the clouds to shed a very special drizzle around the hut. In the morning some unknown trees had sprung up there. Amid their dark green leaves appeared white flowers. The old peasant’s daughter never died. She is the queen of the maté and goes about the world offering it to others. The tea of the maté awakens sleepers, activates the lazy, and makes brothers and sisters of people who don’t know each other. (86”
― Eduardo Galeano, Genesis

“Mosquitos There were many dead in the Nootkas village. In each dead body there was a hole through which blood had been stolen. The murderer, a child who was already killing before he learned to walk, received his sentence roaring with laughter. They pierced him with lances and he laughingly picked them out of his body like thorns. “I’ll teach you to kill me,” said the child. He suggested to his executioners that they should light a big bonfire and throw him into it. His ashes scattered through the air, anxious to do harm, and thus the first mosquitos started to fly. (174)”
― Eduardo Galeano, Genesis

“The Armadillo A big fiesta was announced on Lake Titicaca, and the armadillo, who was a very superior creature, wanted to dazzle everybody. Long beforehand, he set to weaving a cloak of such elegance that it would knock all eyes out. The fox noticed him at work. “Are you in a bad mood?” “Don’t distract me. I’m busy.” “What’s that for?” The armadillo explained. “Ah,” said the fox, savoring the words, “for the fiesta tonight?” “What do you mean, tonight?” The armadillo’s heart sank. He had never been more sure of his time calculations. “And me with my cloak only half finished!” While the fox took off with a smothered laugh, the armadillo finished the cloak in a hurry. As time was flying, he had to use coarser threads, and the weave ended up too big. For this reason the armadillo’s shell is tight-warped around the neck and very open at the back. (174)”
― Eduardo Galeano, Genesis

“The Crocodile The sun of the Macusi people was worried. Every day there were fewer fish in their ponds. He put the crocodile in charge of security. The ponds got emptier. The crocodile, security guard and thief, invented a good story about invisible assailants, but the sun didn’t believe it, took a machete, and left the crocodile’s body all crisscrossed with cuts. To calm him down, the crocodile offered his beautiful daughter in marriage. “I’ll be expecting her,” said the sun. As the crocodile had no daughter, he sculpted a woman in the trunk of a wild plum tree. “Here she is,” he said, and plunged into the water, looking out of the corner of his eye, the way he always looks. It was the woodpecker who saved his life. Before the sun arrived, the woodpecker pecked at the wooden girl below the belly. Thus she, who was incomplete, was open for the sun to enter. (112)”
― Eduardo Galeano, Genesis

“The Bear The day animals and the night animals got together to decide what they would do about the sun, which then came and went whenever it liked. The animals resolved to leave the problem to fate. The winning group in the game of riddles would decide how long the world would have sunlight in the future. They were still talking when the sun approached, intrigued by the discussion. The sun came so close that the night animals had to scatter. The bear was a victim of the general flurry. He put his right foot into his left moccasin and his left foot into his right moccasin, and took off on the run as best he could. According to the Comanches, since then the bear walks with a lurch. (132)”
― Eduardo Galeano, Genesis

“Creen los hurones, como todos los pueblos iroqueses, que el sueño transfigura las cosas más triviales y las convierte en símbolos al tocarlas con los dedos del deseo. Creen que el sueño es el lenguaje de los deseos no realizados y llaman "ondinnonk" a los secretos deseos del alma, que la vigilia ignora. Los "ondinnonk" asoman en los viajes que hace el alma mientras duerme el cuerpo.”
― Eduardo Galeano, Genesis

“Consejos de los viejos sabios aztecas.

La tierra es lugar de alegría penosa,
de alegría que punza.
Pero aunque así fuera,
aunque fuera verdad que sólo se sufre,
aunque así fueran las cosas en la tierra,
¿habrá que estar siempre con miedo?
¿habrá que estar siempre temblando?
¿habrá que vivir siempre llorando?
Para que no andemos siempre gimiendo,
para que nunca nos sature la tristeza,
el Señor Nuestro nos ha dado
la risa, el sueño, los alimentos,
nuestra fuerza
y finalmente
el acto del amor
que siembra gentes.”
― Eduardo Galeano, Genesis

“Y mira que es difícil sentir frío en Panamá, con aquellos calores queya quisiera nuestro infierno. En Panamá las piedras sudan y dice la gente: "Apurate con la sopa, que se calienta.”
― Eduardo Galeano, Genesis