Nana

“Barrabás llegó a la familia por vía marítima, anotó la niña Clara con su delicada caligrafía. Ya entonces tenía el hábito de escribir las cosas importantes y más tarde, cuando se quedó muda, escribía también las trivialidades, sin sospechar que cincuenta años después, sus cuadernos me servirían para rescatar la memoria del pasado y para sobrevivir a mi propio espanto.”
― Isabel Allende, La casa de los espíritus

“He aquí que la muerte tarda como el olvido. Nos va invadiendo lenta, poro a poro. Es inútil correr, precipitarse, huir hasta inventar nuevos caminos y también es inútil estar quieto sin palpitar siquiera para que no nos oiga.”
― Rosario Castellanos, Poesía no eres tú. Obra poética

“In the books I've written about my childhood I can't remember, suddenly, what I left out, what I said. I think I wrote about our love for our mother, but I don't know if I wrote about how we hated her too, or about our love for one another, and our terrible hatred too, in that common family history of ruin and death which was ours whatever happened, in love or in hate, and which I still can't understand however hard I try, which is still beyond my reach, hidden in the very depths of my flesh, blind as a newborn child. It's the area on whose brink silence begins. What happens there is silence, the slow travail of my whole life. I'm still there, watching those possessed children, as far away from the mystery now as I was then. I've never written, though I thought I wrote, never loved, though I thought I loved, never done anything but wait outside the closed door.”
― Marguerite Duras, The Lover

“He kissed me and now I am someone else.”
― Gabriela Mistral