Paradais Quotes
"He could never say no to that lard-ass when he waved at him from his window; he didn’t want to put an end to their drinking sessions down on the dock no matter how much that prick did his head in."
"That was the word for her: more than pretty she was eye-catching, striking, made to be looked at somehow."
"Because, of course, at that very moment fatboy would invariably make his appearance on the dock, panting like a pachyderm from the effort of walking down the development’s wooden steps."
"He wasn’t there for the bottle of Bacardi, the six-pack of beers sweating in the heat or the cigarettes, and certainly not to avoid going home sober with his mother and slut of a cousin still up and waiting for him."
"The urge Polo felt to smash those keys into his stupid face and tell him: wash it yourself, asshole, before whipping out the machete at his waist and bringing it down on that big bald head!"
"The world won’t just land at your feet, sunshine, you have to grind, really grind, and not turn your nose up at the first job you don’t like."
"A colossal yet volatile, ethereal structure that took off each time the breeze blew in, as if it wanted to escape."
"Lost in a world of his own as a whole squad of catering company staff darted back and forth."
"Polo had the feeling he knew her, that he’d seen her before."
"An invisible force kept putting her in his path; wherever he turned, there she was."
"His guts marinating in the juices of his own rage."
"Polo did his best to ignore her, but it was as if an invisible force kept putting her in his path."
"The overtime, plus tip, which the idiot Urquiza always cheated him out of."
"Who was he, really? A little shit, his mother would say. But her little shit, at the end of the day."
"If only his traitor of a grandfather had kept his promise to teach him how to build a wooden boat, a simple, reliable craft that he could’ve upgraded later with a modest motor so he wouldn’t have to rely on muscle power alone or be at the mercy of the currents."
"Tools tailored to his swarthy hands, which were rough and disfigured from endlessly chafing against coarse wood and from the countless accidents he had on account of his terrible habit of knocking back rotgut while he worked."
"He also had a string of women across the river basin, in every town where he’d lived, and at least a dozen offspring, some his, some stepchildren."
"Yes, the old dog believed — and who knows how many times Polo had heard it, given his grandfather’s mania for repeating himself — that it was bad for a man’s health — 'pernicious,' he would say — to sleep so close to a woman."
"Every time he screwed Zorayda he promised himself he wouldn’t do it again: that was the last time he’d fuck her, the last time he’d be taken in by that ass, which he knew would only land him in trouble."
"Best whisky in the world, Milton had said, liquid fuckin’ gold, papi, when Polo picked up a bottle from the floor and looked at the label written in English, the old thirst tickling his throat again."
"What was so wrong with wanting to earn some real money, wanting to be free and to have a sense of worth, of purpose, the closest thing to a life goal Polo had ever felt?"
"In the beginning he thought it was just talk, more of Franco Andrade’s fucked-up fantasies, more shit spewing from that lecherous twat’s mouth because he didn’t have the slightest clue what he was talking about."
"It's fucking difficult from a distance, but easy enough at close range."
"You feel like king of the fucking world carrying this thing on you."
"Nothing made much sense anymore, he really couldn’t give a fuck."
"Maybe this was his chance to fuck off out of Progreso and away from his mother’s house."
"He didn’t want to be anyone’s bitch, but he was prepared to break his balls working for a while if it meant escaping the rattrap that had been his life."
"He felt like he could tell Franco what he really thought, and it was truly liberating."
"Why the fuck not? Nothing made much sense anymore, he really couldn’t give a fuck."
"He had lost everything: his keys, his shoes, his phone, his bike, his backpack with his work overalls, and the handbag containing the Maroños’ jewels, but it didn’t matter because he was alive."
"He was sick to death of it all, that town, his job, his mother’s lectures and his cousin’s digs, sick of the life he led, and he wanted to be free, free goddammit, that was his life goal, and he’d only just worked it out."