Loving Means Getting Rid Of Names.

Solitude Is The Profoundest Fact Of The Human Condition. Man Is The Only Being Who Knows He Is Alone, And The Only One Who Seeks Out Another. His Nature - If That Word Can Be Used In Reference To Man, Who Has ‘invented’ Himself By Saying ‘no’ To Nature - Consists In His Longing To Realize Himself In Another. Man Is Nostalgia And A Search For Communion. Therefore, When He Is Aware Of Himself He Is Aware Of His Lack Of Another, That Is, Of His Solitude.

Ruy-sanchez's Works Of Fiction Are Always Amazing: Adventure, Poetry And Intelligence In A New Geometry Of Words... His Writing Has Nerve And Agility, His Intelligence Is Sharp Without Being Cruel, His Mood Is Sympathetic Without Complicity.

Mineral Cactai, Quicksilver Lizards In The Adobe Walls, The Bird That Punctures Space, Thirst, Tedium, Clouds Of Dust, Impalpable Epiphanies Of Wind. The Pines Taught Me To Talk To Myself. In That Garden I Learnedto Send Myself Off. Later There Were No Gardens.

The Woman Who Died Night After Night And Her Dying Was A Long Goodbye, A Train That Never Left.

A Glass Pitcher, A Wicker Basket, A Tunic Of Coarse Cloth. Their Beauty Is Inseparable From Their Function. Handicrafts Belong To A World Existing Before The Separation Of The Useful And The Beautiful.