Juan Filloy Famous Quotes
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Each man must administer his hatred cautiously. Mine is equitable. I distribute it evenly among those who are frozen in the past and those who perspire in the present. Because while the former are hemorrhoidal in their sensibility, the latter are constipated in the brain. And they complement each other by both betraying the law of life that demands the immediate defecation of all useless detritus, be it antiquated illusion or contemporary cowardice.
As has already been stated: some people's brains border their anal regions. Thus, their senses are dulled, and the psychopathological pestilence is such that the intrepid scholar-explorer inevitably butts up against a dead end.
It's distressing when intellect can't detect its own defects.
Routines are unyielding. They take hold like lice.
Perhaps he was probing the enigma of why men fall in love with their dreams, which are then so destroyed by harsh realities that their dreamers become cuckolded by their own illusions. Perhaps...
His leap was exact, mathematical. The initial arc - head tucked between taut arms that spread out gradually like wings - was as graceful as a swan dive.
Thus, being the only begotten son of method and resolve, Op Oloop was the most perfect of human machines, the most notable object of self-discipline that Buenos Aires had ever seen. When everything in life from the important universal phenomena to one's own trivial, individual failures has been recorded and anotated since puberty, it's fair to say that one's system of classification will have been honed, condensed to their most perfect quintessence. Or else deified into a great, overarching, methodological hierarchy. Method's very greatness, of course, is revealed in its sovereignty over the trivial!
On the avenue, dark and tree-lined, shop windows began to blink on.
A sudden and unforseen swinging of his head alarmed all present. He seemed to be trying to scare off a flock of vampires biting into his brain.
Whenever the mind tries to ascend into realms of new and sublime abstraction, matter persists and confines it in the cellar of habit.
A doctor? For me? Why? Because I'm laughing? Ha, ha, ha! Now hear this: I laugh out ouf an inner obligation!... to vent the ill humors of my growing solitude, which thrives on the imbecility of my fellow men!... Ha, ha, ha! I don't need any doctor! No one can chase away the demon on the duty in my mouth!... Ha,ha,ha! The demon confiscating my thoughts!... Ha,ha,ha! The demon jumping on my tongue... in my ear... in my larynx.
