New Moon

Título: New Moon (2006)
2nd book to Twilight
Autor: Stephenie Meyer
País (impresión)/Editorial: USA/Little, Brown and Company
Páginas: 563
Leído del 2 al 3 de marzo de 2008

Sitio Oficial del Autor

Buy: Barnes & Noble / Amazon


Quotes

As much as I struggled not to think of him, I did not struggle to forget. I worried - late in the night, when the exhaustion of sleep deprivation broke down my defenses - that it was all slipping away. That my mind was a sieve, and I would someday not be able to remember the precise color of his eyes, the feel of his cool skin, or the texture of his voice. I could not think of them, but I must remember them.
Because there was just one thing that I had to believe to be able to live - I had to know that he existed. That was all. Everything else I could endure. So long as he existed.
[...]
But if I were to go to Jacksonville, or anywhere else bright and unfamiliar, how could I be sure he was real? In a place where I could never imagine him, the conviction might fade... and that I could not live through.
Forbidden to remember, terrified to forget; it was a hard line to walk.
pp. 116 - 117


"Homework once a week?" he proposed.
"Maybe we'd better go with twice," I suggested, thinking of the pile I'd just been asigned today.
He sighed a heavy sigh. Then he reached over his toolbox to a paper grocery sack. He pulled out two cans of soda, cracking one open and handing it to me. He opened the second, and held it up ceremoniously.
"Here's to responsibility," he toasted. "Twice a week."
"And recklessness every day in between," I emphasized.
p. 164


"Are you sure you don't want to see Tomorrow and Forever instead?" He asked at lunch, naming the current romantic comedy that was ruling the box office. "Rotten Tomatoes gave it a better review."
"I want to see Crosshairs," I insisted. "I'm in the mood for action. Bring on the blood and guts!"
"Okay." Mike turned away, but not before I saw his maybe-she's-crazy-after-all expression.
p. 205


The pity made it final somehow. I didn't comment. I just turned robotically and climbed in my truck. I'd left the windows open and the seats were slick and wet. It didn't matter. I was already soaked.
Not as bad! Not as bad! my mind tried to comfort me. It was true. This wasn't as bad. This wasn't the end of the world, not again. This was just the end of what little peace there was left behind. That was all.
Not as bad, I agreed, then added, but bad enough.
p. 273


A small, dry voice in the back of my mind asked me what the big deal was. Hadn't I already accepted the existence of vampires long ago - and without all the hysterics that time?
Exactly, I wanted to scream back at the voice. Wasn't one myth enough for anyone, enough for a lifetime?
Besides, there'd never been one moment that I wasn't completely aware that Edward Cullen was above and beyond the ordinary. It wasn't such a suprise to find out what he was - because he so obviously was something.
But Jacob? Jacob, who was just Jacob, and nothing more than that? Jacob, my friend? Jacob, the only human I'd ever been able to relate to...
And he wasn't even human.
p. 294


I shook my head sadly. Love is irrational, I reminded myself. The more you loved someone, the less sense anything made.
p. 340


"Are you dating that kid from La Push? The sophomore?" He asked, poorly disguising the resentment in his tone.
I shrugged. "Not in the technical sense of the word. I do spent most of my time with Jacob, though. He's my best friend."
Mike's eyes narrowed shrewdly. "Don't kid yourself, Bella. The guy's head over heels for you."
"I know," I sighed. "Life is complicated."
"And girls are cruel," Mike said under his breath.
p. 343


I didn't want to fight anymore. And it wasn't the lightheadedness, or the cold, or the failure of my arms as the muscles gave out in exhaustion, that made me content to stay where I was. I was almost happy that it was over. This was an easier death than others I'd faced. Oddly peaceful.
I thought briefly of the clichés, about how you were suppose to see your life flash before your eyes. I was so much luckier. Who wanted to see a rerun, anyway?
I saw him, and I had no will to fight. It was so clear, so much more defined than any memory. My subconscious had stored Edward away in flawless detail, saving him for this final moment. I could see his perfect face as if he were really there; the exact shade of his icy skin, the shape of his lips, the line of his jaw, the gold glinting in his furious eyes. He was angry, naturally, that I was giving up. His teeth were clenched and his nostrils flared with rage.
"No! Bella, no!"
My ears were flooded wiht the freezing water, but his voice was clearer than ever. I ignored his words and concentrated on the sound of his voice. Why would I fight when I was so happy where I was? Even as my lungs burned for more air and my legs cramped in the icy cold, I was content. I'd forgotten what real happiness felt like.
Happiness. It made my whole dying thing pretty bearable.
p. 361


If I turned my face to the side - if I pressed my lips against his bare shoulder... I knew without any doubt exactly what would follow. It would be very easy. There would be no need for explanations tonight.
But could I do it? Could I betray my absent heart to save my pathetic life?
Butterflies assaulted my stomach as I thought about turning my head.
And then, as clearly as if I were in immediate danger, Edward's velvet voice whispered in my ear.
"Be happy," he told me.
p. 376


[...] True love was forever lost. The prince was never coming back to kiss me awake from my enchanted sleep. I was not a princess, after all. So what was the fairy-tale protocol for other kisses? The mundane kind that didn't break any spells?
Maybe it would be easy - like holding his hand or having his arms around me. Maybe it would feel nice. Maybe it wouldn't feel like a betrayal. Besides, who was I betraying, anyway? Just myself.
p. 411


"I'm going to get you as close as possible, and then you're going to run in the direction I point you."
I nodded.
"Try not to trip," she added. "We don't have time for a concussion today."
I groaned. That would be just like me - ruin everything, destroy the world, in a moment of klutziness.
pp. 441 - 442


[...] But I felt his lips press silently against my forehead, and I didn't care what the motivation was. At least I could be with him again before I died. That was better than a long life.
p. 459


"What was all that talk about singers?" Alice asked at one point.
"La tua cantante," Edward said. His voice made the words into music.
"Yes, that," Alice said, and I concentrated for a moment. I'd wondered about that, too, at the time.
I felt Edward shrug around me. "They have a name for someone who smells the way Bella does to me. They call her my singer - because her blood sings for me."
p.490


He waited, studying my face as he spoke to make sure I was really listening.
"Before you, Bella, my life was like a moonless night. Very dark, but there were stars - points of light and reason. ...And then you shot across my sky like a meteor. Suddenly everything was on fire; there was brilliancy, there was beauty. When you were gone, when the meteor had fallen over the horizon, everything went black. Nothing had changed, but my eyes were blinded by the light. I couldn't see the stars anymore. And there was no more reason for anything."
I wanted to believe him. But this was my life without him that he was describing, not the other way around.
p. 514


I shrugged. "Either way. But you probably should be there, too."
"And why is that?"
"Because you're extraordinarily opinionated, and I'm sure you'll want a chance to air your views."
"My views on which subject?" He asked through his teeth.
"This isn't just about you anymore. You're not the center of the universe, you know." My own personal universe was, of course, a different story. "If you're going to bring the Volturi down on us over something as stupid as leaving me human, then your family ought to have a say."
"A say in what?" he asked, each word distinct.
"My mortality. I'm putting it to a vote."
p. 521


What if you sincerely believed something was true, but you were dead wrong? What if you were so stubbornly sure that you were right, that you wouldn't even consider the truth? Would the truth be silenced, or would it try to break through?
Option three: Edward loved me. The bond forged between us was not one that could be broken by absence, distance, or time. And no matter how much more special or beautiful or brilliant or perfect than me he might be, he was as irreversibly altered as I was. As I would always belong to him, so he would always be mine.
Was that what I'd been trying to tell myself?
"Oh!"
"Bella?"
"Oh. Okay. I see."
"Your epiphany?" he asked, his voice uneven and strained.
"You love me," I marveled. The sense of conviction and rightness washed through me again.
Though his eyes were still anxious, the crooked smile I loved best flashed across his face. "Truly, I do."
p. 527


"So let's both just be hopeful, all right?" I suggested. "Not that it matters. If you stay, I don't need heaven."
He got up slowly, and came to put his hands on either side of my face as he stared into my eyes. "Forever," he vowed, still a little staggered.
"That's all I'm asking for," I said, and stretched up on my toes so that I could press my lips to his.
p. 547

Fourth Comings

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True Believer

Título: True Believer (2005)
Autor: Nicholas Sparks
País (impresión)/Editorial: USA/Warner Books
Páginas: 434
Leído del 6 al 10 de enero de 2008


Sitio Oficial del Autor

Buy: Barnes & Noble / Amazon


Quotes

He had assumed a false intimacy, acting as if he were everyone's brother or best friend, and it seemed that the vast majority of the awestruck audience -including the attractive blonde and the woman the guest was addressing- considered him a gift from heaven itself. Which made sense, Jeremy thought, since that was always where the lost loved ones ended up. Spirits from beyond the grave were always surrounded by bright angelic light and enveloped in an aura of peace and tranquility. Never once had Jeremy heard of a spirit guide channeling from the other, hotter place. A lost loved one never mentioned that he was being roasted on a spit or boiled in a cauldron of motor oil, for instance.
p. 2


Investigative journalism, he'd come to learn, was a thankless business.
p. 7


He snapped a picture of the magnolia tree as well. It was easily the largest he'd ever seen. Its black trunk was wizened, and the low-hanging branches would have kept him and his brothers occupied for hours when they were boys. If it weren't surrounded by dead people, that is.
p. 49


Then again, perhaps her visit here was simply a coincidence.
She continued moving toward him.
Come to think of it, a rather attractive coincidence.
p. 50


Again, the same cowlike expressions from patrons as he passed. Conversations quieted. Eyes drifted. When he nodded and waved, eyes dropped and the murmur of conversation rose again. This waving thing, he thought, was kind of like having a magic wand.
p. 55


"He was always a talker. He'd talk to a shoe box if no one else was around, and I swear I don't know how his wife, Bonnie, put up with it for so long. But twelve years ago, she went deaf, and so now he talks to customers. [...]
Jeremy reached for his coffee. "His wife went deaf?"
"I think the Good Lord realized she'd sacrificed enough. Bless her heart."
p. 59


Modern, it definitely wasn't. It wouldn't have been modern thirty years ago. [...] It was scenic, he had to admit, but the rustic part probably referred to mosquitoes and alligators, neither of which summoned up a lot of enthusiasm in him for staying there.
pp. 106 - 107


Dressed in green polyester pants and a blue turtleneck sweater, the man looked as if he'd dressed in the dark.
p. 107


The place was the Museum of Natural History transformed into a horror movie and squeezed into a closet.
p. 111


And besides, he didn't honestly care if the world came or not, as long as Lexie stayed part of his world.
p. 201


"That's fine," he said. "I'm all for you changing into something more comfortable."
"I'll bet you are," she said knowingly.
"Now, don't start getting fresh," he said, feigning offense. "I don't think we know each other well enough for that."
"That's my line," she said.
"I thought I'd heard it somewhere."
"Well, get your own material next time. And just so you know, I don't want you getting any funny ideas about tonight, either."
"I have no funny ideas. I'm completely devoid of humor."
pp. 226 - 227


"I thought you'd just have a video camera or something like that."
"I do. I have four of them."
"Why do you need four?"
"To film every angle, of course. For instance, what if the ghosts are walking in the wrong direction? I might not get their faces."
p. 229


[...] "What are you doing here, Jeremy?"
It was a moment before he answered. "I wasn't sure you were coming back," he said. "And I realized thsat if I wanted to see you again, the best option was to come to you."
"But why?"
Jeremy continued staring toward the lighthouse. "I felt like I didn't have a choice."
"I'm not sure what that means," she said.
Jeremy studied his feet, then looked up and smiled as if in apology. "To be honest, I've spent most of the day trying to figure it out, too."
pp. 295 - 296


[...] Jeremy peeked over her shoulder, watching as the butter began to melt.
"Looks healthy," he said. "My doctor always told me I needed extra cholesterol in my diet."
p. 306


"[...] If you want to sacrifice me, I can live with that. [...]"
p. 395

Todo Está Iluminado

Título: Todo Está Iluminado (2007)
Everything Is Illuminated (2002)
Autor: Jonathan Safran Foer
País (impresión)/Editorial: Argentina/DeBols!llo
Páginas: 344
Leído del 2 al 5 de enero de 2008

Sitio Oficial del Autor
Versión cinematográfica

Buy: Barnes & Noble (español) / Amazon (inglés)

Quotes
Madre es una mujer humilde. Muy, muy humilde. Trabaja en un pequeño café a una hora de distancia de casa, donde sirve comida y bebida a los clientes. Siempre me dice: "Me subo cada día al autobús durante una hora y paso el día haciendo cosas que odio. ¿Quieres saber por qué? Pues por ti, ¡Alexi-no-me-fastidies! Un día tú harás cosas que odies por mí. Eso es lo que significa ser una familia". Lo que no pesca es que ya hago por ella cosas que odio. La escucho cuando me habla. Me resisto a quejarme sobre mi pigmea asignación. ¿Y he mencionado que no la fastidio tanto como desearía? Pero no hago todas estas cosas porque seamos una familia. Las hago porque obedecen a la decencia más elemental. Es una expresión que me enseñó el héroe. Las hago porque no soy un capullo de mierda. Esta otra expresión también me la enseñó el héroe.
p. 11

Me siento de nuevo obligado a tragarme otro trozo de mi orgullo (mi estómago ya empieza a estar repleto) [...]
p. 42

Como ya preveía, mis chicas se pusieron muy tristes al saber que no estaría con ellas para la celebración del primer cumpleaños de la nueva constitución. "Noche entera", me dijo una de mis chicas, "¿cómo se supone que voy a darme placer en tu vacío?" Yo tenía una liviana idea. "Baby", me dijo otra, "no está bien". Yo dije a todas lo mismo: "Si fuera posible yo estaría aquí contigo, siempre. Pero soy un hombre que trabaja, ¿no?, y debo ir a donde debo ir. Necesitamos dinero para los clubes famosos, ¿no? Estoy haciendo algo que odio por ti. Esto es lo que significa estar enamorado. Así que no me fastidies".
p. 43


En una ocasión, Padre fue a Praga, en servicio para Turismo Ancestral, y mientras reposaba los guardias tomaron varias cosas primordiales de su maleta, lo cual es terrible porque no posee muchas cosas primordiales. (Resulta tan raro pensar en alguien haciendo daño a Padre. Tengo tendencia a creer en la inmutabilidad de los roles.)
p. 50


"No te angusties", le informé, mientras Sammy Davis, Junior, Junior se golpeaba la cabeza contra el cristal. "Es solo la perra guía del conductor." Señalé la camisa que llevaba puesta, pero ya había mordido la mayor parte, de manera que solo se leía: PERRA OFICIAL. "Está desquiciada", dije, "pero le gusta mucho jugar."
p. 51

Le hablaba como si ella pudiera entenderle, nunca en un tono de voz chillón o en monosílabos, y nunca con palabras sin sentido. Esto que estás tomando es leche. La trae Mordechai, el lechero, a quien ya conocerás algún día. Él saca la leche de las vacas, lo cual, si te paras a pensarlo, es algo bastante raro e incluso inquietante, así que mejor no pienses en ello...
p. 60

Cuando lo sacaba para darle de comer o simplemente para sentirla en sus brazos, el cuerpo del bebé aparecía tatuado con la tinta del periódico. [...] En ocasiones la acunaba en sus brazos hasta dormirla, y la leía de izquierda a derecha, enterándose de todo cuanto necesitaba saber acerca del mundo. Si no estaba escrito en su piel, carecía de importancia.
p. 61

Despertaba cada mañana con el deseo de hacer el bien, de actuar con bondad y coherencia; de ser, por sencillo que parecía y por imposible que era en realidad, feliz. A lo largo del día el corazón le bajaba del pecho al estómago. A primera hora de la tarde le asaltaba la sensación de que nada estaba bien, o al menos no para él, y le envadía el deseo de estar solo. Al anochecer había cumplido su deseo: solo en la magnitud de su dolor, solo en una culpabilidad confusa, solo incluso en su soledad. No estoy triste, se repetía a sí mismo una y otra vez, No estoy triste. Como si así pudiera llegar a convencerse algún día. O engañarse. O convencer a los otros, ya que lo único peor que estar triste es que tu tristeza sea de dominio público. No estoy triste. No estoy triste. Porque su vida, vacía estancia blanca, poseía un potencial ilimitado para la felicidad. Caía dormido con el corazón a los pies de la cama, cual animal doméstico, pero por la mañana, al despertar, volvía a tenerlo en el altillo de las costillas, un poco más pesado, un poco más débil, pero todavía en marcha. Y a media tarde le sobrevenía de nuevo el deseo de estar en otro lugar, de ser alguien distinto, de ser alguien distinto en otro lugar. No estoy triste.
pp. 65 - 66

¿Puede ser bonito aun cuando nadie lo cree así?
Yo creo que lo es.
¿Y si sólo lo crees tú?
Entonces aún es más bonito.
¿Y qué me dices de los chicos? ¿No quieres que piensen que eres bonita?
No querría a un chico que pensara que soy bonita si no se tratase de la clase de chico que me encontrara bonita.
p. 101

[...] y cuando él le compró un libro sobre fisiología animal, Brod le plantó los dibujos delante de las narices y le dijo: ¿No te parece extraño, Yankel, cómo nos los comemos?
Yo nunca me he comido un dibujo.
Los animales. ¿No lo encuentras raro? No recuerdo haberlo encontrado raro antes. Es como tu nombre, te pasas años sin prestarle atención, pero, el día que lo haces, no puedes evitar repetirlo una y otra vez, y te preguntas por qué nunca te pareció raro que ese nombre fuera el tuyo cuando todo el mundo te ha estado llamando por él durante toda tu vida.
Yankel. Yankel. Yankel. No me suena raro.
No volveré a comerlos, al menos hasta que deje de parecerme raro.
p. 1o1

Ámame, porque el amor no existe, y yo ya he intentado todo lo que sí existe.
p. 108

Se entregaron recíprocamente a esa gran mentira salvadora - que nuestro amor por las cosas es mayor que el amor que sentimos por el amor a las cosas-, representando deliberadamente los papeles que escribieron para sí mismos, creando y creyendo deliberadamente en esas ficciones que resultan imprescindibles para vivir.
p. 109

Comprendo lo que escribes cuando escribes que Brod no ama a Yankel. Esto no significa que ella no sienta cantidades por él, o que no se ponga melancólica cuando él fallezca. Es otra cosa. El amor, en tu novela, es la inmutabilidad de la verdad. Brod no es sincera con nada. Ni con Yankel ni con ella misma. Todo está a un mundo de distancia del mundo real. ¿Esto posee sentido? Si estoy sonando como un pensador, es un homenaje a tu novela.
p. 135

Cuando Brod pregunta a Yankel por qué piensa en su madre aunque esto le duela y él le dice que no sabe por qué, es un momento decisivo. ¿Por qué lo hacemos? ¿Por qué las cosas malas tienen tanto electromagnetismo?
p. 135

Nunca habían conocido esa profunda intimidad, esa cercanía que surge solo de la distancia.
[...]
En ese silencio alcanzaron esa nueva intimidad, la intimidad de las palabras mudas.
p. 173

Lo único más doloroso que ser un olvidador activo es ser una recordador inerte.
p. 325

Y esto era lo que sucedía cuando alguien trataba de hablar: su mente quedaba confundida por la telaraña de recuerdos. Las palabras se convirtieron en riadas de pensamiento sin principio ni fin, que ahogaban al hablante antes de poder llegar al bote salvavidas: al punto que deseaba expresar. Era imposible recordar lo que uno quería decir, lo que pretendía explicar tras aquel aluvión de palabras.
p. 327

Aguardaban la llegada de la muerte, y no podemos culparles, porque nosotros habríamos hecho lo mismo, hacemos lo mismo. Bromeaban y se reían. Pensaban en las velas de cumpleaños y aguardaban a la muerte, y debemos perdonarles.
p. 328

El universo se derramó en una explosiva embestida de vómito celestial.
p. 333

Gracias a Silver, por prestarme este libro!

Welcome

I should have done this several years ago... but I've always sucked at keeping diaries.

In this blog, I wish to write down every single book I've ever read. From now on, I will post which book I'm reading, as well as my favorite quotes from it and thoughts about it. As for the books I read a long time ago, I will do my best to (at least) enlist them.

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