Thursday, December 16, 2004

Among the Greguerías, these are personal favourites:
  • The trickiest task of a knife-grinder is sharpening the arrows of Cupid.

  • A book is the lifejacket of loneliness.

  • Poor man: even his memory proved faithless!

  • He had his fortune invested in sheets, but one day he was robbed by a platoon of ghosts.

  • Bats sound like the hinges on the gate of the night.

  • Death is hereditary.

  • Love is born of the sudden desire to make the ephemeral eternal.

  • A machine gun sounds like the typewriter of death.

  • Rabbits sleep like dreaming toys.

  • In every cinema audience there is always someone whose drama is precisely the one you see on the screen.

  • Only the deaf can cure a liar.

  • Nobody dies of tears, except the candle.

  • The telephone is the alarm clock of those who are already awake.

  • What a tragedy! Her hands withered but her rings did not.

  • The driving-wheel is the lectern on which the novel of the journey will be opened.

  • The Creator keeps the keys to all the navels.

  • Our only real property consists of our bones.

  • They looked out at each other from the windows of two trains travelling in opposite directions, but so great is the force of love that suddenly the two trains began to travel in the same direction.

  • The only way to cure heartbreak is by saving up presentiments.

  • Fleas make a dog into a guitarist.

  • The whip traces in the air the tyrant's signature.

  • The leaves that fall are the tickets the Autumn bestows on us for its raffle.

  • A fly is the poor man's jewel.

  • Every time we frown another hair grows in our eyebrows.

  • In every wardrobe there is one pair of socks which is never worn, but is left there to breed more socks.

  • Fog is the collective ghost of the returning past.

  • The prima donna collects albums of applause for use in the hours of her old age.

  • He killed time in vengeful anticipation of what time was going to do to him.

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