Carlos Ruiz Zafon
Carlos Ruiz Zafon
Carlos Ruiz Zafón Spanish: is a Spanish novelist...
NationalitySpanish
ProfessionNovelist
Date of Birth25 September 1964
CountrySpain
magic paper perfume
I stepped into the bookshop and breathed in that perfume of paper and magic that strangely no one had ever thought of bottling.
character writing magic
I was always fascinated by the fact that you could take paper and ink and create worlds, images, characters. It seemed like magic.
entire rains size spend thunder time year
I spend a lot of time in L.A., and when it rains there you get the entire rainfall for the year in two days, raindrops the size of mangoes. And in Barcelona, the Mediterranean storms come up from the sea, thunder and lightning; it's like the end of the world.
memories deceptive
Few things are more deceptive than memories.
paper faces pieces
It's curious how easy it is to tell a piece of paper what you don't dare say to someone's face.
blood resentment absurd
Resentment slowly poisoned my blood and I laughed at myself and my absurd hopes.
compassion sometimes circumstances
Sometimes, in difficult circumstances, one can confuse compassion with love.
lying reality air
Life had taught her that we all require big and small lies in order to survive, just as much as we need air. She used to say that if during one single day, from dawn to dusk, we could see the naked reality of the world, and of ourselves, we would either take our own lives or lose our minds.
children growing-up father
A good father. A man with a head, a heart, and a soul. A man capable of listening, of leading and respecting a child, and not of drowning his own defects in him. Someone whom a child will not only love because he's his father, but will also admire for the person he is. Someone he would want to grow up to resemble.
silence soul needs
How many lost souls do You need, Lord, to satisfy Your hunger? the hatter asked. God, in His infinite silence, looked at him without blinking.
reading imagination soul
I had never known the pleasure of reading, of exploring the recesses of the soul, of letting myself be carried away by imagination, beauty, and the mystery of fiction and language. For me all those things were born with that novel.
memories war convince-us
Nothing feeds forgetfulness better than war.... We all keep quiet and they try to convince us that what we've seen, what we've done, what we've learned about ourselves and about others, is an illusion, a passing nightmare. Wars have no memory, and nobody has the courage to understand them until there are no voices left to tell what happened, until the moment comes when we no longer recognize them and they return, with another face and another name, to devour what they left behind.
curse
Time curses all, I thought, except the truth.
saint sinner
One can convert only a sinner, never a saint.