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“And so I step up, into the darkness within; or else the light.”
― Margaret Atwood, The Handmaid's Tale

“Her fingers moved gently in his hair. She looked up and across the barn, and her lips came together and smiled mysteriously.”
― John Steinbeck, The Grapes of Wrath

“-Dime, qué comemos.
El coronel necesitó setenta y cinco años -los setenta y cinco años de su vida, minuto a minuto- para llegar a ese instante. Se sintió puro, explícito, invencible, en el momento de responder:
-Mierda.”
― Gabriel García Márquez, El coronel no tiene quien le escriba

“Yes, they will trample me underfoot, the numbers marching one two three, four hundred million five hundred six, reducing me to specks of voiceless dust, just as, in all good time, they will trample my son who is not my son, and his son who will not be his, and his who will not be his, until the thousand and first generation, until a thousand and one midnights have bestowed their terrible gifts and a thousand and one children have died, because it is the privilege and the curse of midnight’s children to be both masters and victims of their times, to forsake privacy and be sucked into the annihilating whirlpool of the multitudes, and to be unable to live or die in peace.”
― Salman Rushdie, Midnight’s Children