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Julio Cortazar Biography

Julio Cortázar, born Julio Florencio Cortázar (American Spanish: [ˈxuljo korˈtasar] ( listen); August 26, 1914 – February 12, 1984), was an Argentine novelist, short story writer, and essayist. Known as one of the founders of the Latin American Boom, Cortázar influenced an entire generation of Spanish-speaking readers and writers in the Americas and Europe.

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Julio Cortazar Quotes

Of all our feelings the only one which really doesn't belong to us is hope. Hope belongs to life, it's life itself defending itself. Etcetera.

Belongs, Defending, Etcetera, Feelings, Hopscotch, Life

As if you could pick in love, as if it were not a lightning bolt that splits your bones and leaves you staked out in the middle of the courtyard. (. . . ) You don't pick out the rain that soaks you to the skin when you come out of a concert.

Bones, Concert, Lightning, Rain, Skins, Soaks

Happy was she who could believe without seeing, who was at one with the duration and continuity of life.

Believe, Continuity Of Life, Duration, Life

The more a book is like an opium pipe, the more the Chinaman reader is satisfied with it and tends to discuss the quality of the drug rather than its lethargic effects.

Book, Drug, Effects, Pipe, Quality, Satisfied

Come sleep with me: We won't make Love,Love will make us.

Come, Love, Make, Relationship, Sleep

Time is born in the eyes, everybody knows that.

Born, Everybody, Eye, Eyes, Time

Nothing is more comical than seriousness understood as a virtue that has to precede all important literature

Important, Literature, Precede, Virtue

[Heaven is] that moment in which something attains its maximum depth, its maximum reach, its maximum sense, and becomes completely uninteresting.

Completely, Depth, Heaven, Moment, Moments, Sense

When one wants to write, one writes. If one is condemned to write, one writes.

Condemned, Ifs, Want, Write, Writes, Writing

She would smile and show no surprise, convinced as she was, the same as I, that casual meetings are apt to be just the opposite, and that people who make dates are the same kind who need lines on their writing paper, or who always squeeze up from the bottom on a tube of toothpaste.

Life, Meetings, Opposites, Smile, Surprise, Writing

The best literature is always a take [in the musical sense]; there is an implicit risk in its execution, a margin of danger that is the pleasure of the flight, of the love, carrying with it a tangible loss but also a total engagement that, on another level, lends the theater its unparalleled imperfection faced with the perfection of film. I don’t want to write anything but takes.

Faced, Level, Loss, Love, Perfection, Writing

Why have we had to invent Eden, to live submerged in the nostalgia of a lost paradise, to make up utopias, propose a future for ourselves?

Eden, Future, Invent, Nostalgia, Paradise

What good is a writer if he can't destroy literature? And us. . . what good are we if we don't help as much as we can in that destruction?

Destruction, Good, Helping, Literature

Once in a while it happens that I vomit up a bunny. . . it's not reason for one to blush and isolate oneself and to walk around keeping one's mouth shut.

Bunnies, Keeping, Mouths, Reason, Vomit

The modern story begun, one might say, with Edgar Allan Poe, which proceeds inexorably, like a machine destined to accomplish its mission with the maximum economy of means.

Accomplish, Allan, Machines, Mean, Say, Stories

La Maga did not know that my kisses were like eyes which began to open up beyond her, and that I went along outside as if I saw a different concept of the world, the dizzy pilot of a black prow which cut the water of time and negated it.

Cutting, Different, Dizzy, Eye, Eyes, Kissing

We no longer believe because it is absurd: it is absurd because we must believe.

Absurd, Believe, Longer

I realized that searching was my symbol, the emblem of those who go out at night with nothing in mind, the motives of a destroyer of compasses.

Compass, Compasses, Mind, Motives, Night, Realized

I have never described this to you before, not so much, I don't think, from lack of truthfulness as that, just naturally, one is not going to explain to people at large that from time to time one vomits up a small rabbit.

People, Rabbits, Small, Thinking, Time, Truthfulness

I raised the camera, pretended to study a focus which did not include them, and waited and watched closely, sure that I would finally catch the revealing expression, one that would sum it all up, life that is rhythmed by movement but which a stiff image destroys, taking time in cross section, if we do not choose the essential imperceptible fraction of it.

Cameras, Choose, Expression, Focus, Movement, Raised

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