Jorge Luis Borges

"What you really value is what you miss not what you have."

"Being with you and not being with you is the only way I have to measure time."

"Unappreciated because too many of his [Rudyard Kipling's] peers were socialists."

"Little did they suspect that the years would end by wearing away the disharmony. Little did they suspect that La Mancha and Montiel and the knight's frail figure would be, for the future, no less poetic than Sinbad's haunts or Ariosto's vast geographies. For myth is at the beginning of literature, and also at its end."

"As to whether a poem has been written by a great poet or not, this is important only to historians of literature. Let us suppose, for the sake of argument, that I have written a beautiful line; let us take this as a working hypothesis. Once I have written it, that linedoes me no good, because, as I’ve already said, that line came to me from the Holy Ghost, from the subliminal self, or perhaps from some other writer. I often find I am merely quoting something I read some time ago, and then that becomes a rediscovering. Perhaps it is better that a poet should be nameless."

"I am not sure that I exist, actually. I am all the writers that I have read, all the people that I have met, all the women that I have loved; all the cities I have visited."

"I never reread what I've written. I'm far too afraid to feel ashamed of what I've done."

"Which one of us has never felt, walking through the twilight or writing down a date from his past, that he has lost something infinite?"

". . . In that Empire, the Art of Cartography attained such Perfection that the map of a single Province occupied the entirety of a City, and the map of the Empire, the entirety of a Province. In time, those Unconscionable Maps no longer satisfied, and the Cartographers Guilds struck a Map of the Empire whose size was that of the Empire, and which coincided point for point with it. The following Generations, who were not so fond of the Study of Cartography as their Forebears had been, saw that that vast map was Useless, and not without some Pitilessness was it, that they delivered it up to the Inclemencies of Sun and Winters. In the Deserts of the West, still today, there are Tattered Ruins of that Map, inhabited by Animals and Beggars; in all the Land there is no other Relic of the Disciplines of Geography. Suárez Miranda, Viajes de varones prudentes, Libro IV, Cap. XLV, Lérida, 1658"

"Learning After some time, you learn the subtle difference betweenholding a handand imprisoning a soul;You learn that love does not equal sex,and that company does not equal security,and you start to learn…. That kisses are not contracts and gifts are not promises, and you start to accept defeat with the head up highand open eyes,and you learn to build all roads on today,because the terrain of tomorrow is too insecure for plans…and the future has its own way of falling apart in half. And you learn that if it’s too mucheven the warmth of the sun can burn. So you plant your own garden and embellish your own soul,instead of waiting for someone to bring flowers to you. And you learn that you can actually bear hardship,that you are actually strong,and you are actually worthy,and you learn and learn…and so every day. Over time you learn that being with someonebecause they offer you a good future,means that sooner or later you’ll want to return to your past. Over time you comprehend that only who is capable of loving you with your flaws, with no intention of changing youcan bring you all happiness. Over time you learn that if you are with a persononly to accompany your own solitude, irremediably you’ll end up wishing not to see them again. Over time you learn that real friends are fewand whoever doesn’t fight for them, sooner or later,will find himself surrounded only with false friendships. Over time you learn that words spoken in moments of angercontinue hurting throughout a lifetime. Over time you learn that everyone can apologize,but forgiveness is an attribute solely of great souls. Over time you comprehend that if you have hurt a friend harshlyit is very likely that your friendship will never be the same. Over time you realize that despite being happy with your friends,you cry for those you let go. Over time you realize that every experience lived, with each person, is unrepeatable. Over time you realize that whoever humiliatesor scorns another human being, sooner or laterwill suffer the same humiliations or scorn in tenfold. Over time you learn to build your roads on today,because the path of tomorrow doesn’t exist. Over time you comprehend that rushing things or forcing them to happencauses the finale to be different form expected. Over time you realize that in fact the best was not the future,but the moment you were living just that instant. Over time you will see that even when you are happy with those around you,you’ll yearn for those who walked away. Over time you will learn to forgive or ask for forgiveness,say you love, say you miss, say you need,say you want to be friends, since beforea grave, it will no longer make sense. But unfortunately, only over time…"

"Art is fire plus algebra."

"I came to abominate my body, I came to sense that two eyes, two hands, two lungs are as monstrous as two faces."

"The image of the Lord has been replaced by a mirror."

"When a writer dies, he becomes his books."

"The story of two dreams is a coincidence, a line drawn by chance, like the shapes of lions or horses that are sometimes formed by clouds."

"Heaven and hell seem out of proportion to me: the actions of men do not deserve so much."

"Poets, like the blind, can see in the dark."

"I owe my first inkling of the problem of infinity to a large biscuit tin that was a source of vertiginous mystery during my childhood."

"Ferrari: How odd, Borges, it seems that we are talking constantly through memory. Sometimes, our conversations remind me of a dialogue between two memories. Borges: In fact, that’s what it is. If we are something, we are our past, aren’t we? Our past is not what can be recorded in a biography or in the newspapers. Our past is our memory. That memory can be hidden or inaccurate—it doesn’t matter. It’s there, isn’t it? It can be a lie but that lie becomes part of our memory, part of us. (Conversations, Vol. 1)"

"A circle drawn on a blackboard, a right triangle, a rhombus--all these are forms we can fully intuit; Ireneo could do the same with the stormy mane of a young colt, a small herd of cattle on a mountainside, a flickering fire and its uncountable ashes, and the many faces of a dead man at a wake. I have no idea how many stars he saw in the sky."