20 words of love of Jorge Luis Borges

The Argentine writer (1899-1986) was the son of a professor of psychology and English, and in his youth lived in Switzerland and Spain before returning to his beloved Buenos Aires. There he worked as a librarian and director at the National Library, was a professor of English literature and achieved recognition in his role as a writer. Borges cultivated the essay, poetry and narrative, leaving works of great psychological depth, delicious irony and very personal lyricism.

His great love was also writer Maria Kodama, who says he fell in love with Borges five years, when his teacher read her Two English poems. His second encounter was when she was twelve. Finally, he began a relationship with him when he was a graduate in Literature and professional translator. It became his personal secretary, collaborative work, great friend, companion, lover and muse. However, they not married until April 26, 1986, two months before the death of Borges.

Mary was the inspiring and addressed many of the thoughts and verses of Borges. We reviewed 20 of his memorable phrases about love, happiness and feelings.

One is in love when he realizes that another person is unique.

I do not speak of revenge or forgiveness, oblivion is the only revenge and the only pardon.

The verb read as the verb to love and the verb dream, does not support the imperative mood.

I have ever suspected that the only thing without mystery is happiness, because it is justified by itself.

Women have made me unhappy. But the happiness I have gained compensates all the misery. It is better to be happy and not be unhappy that none of the two things.

Perhaps, when a man is in love he is not wrong. Perhaps those who are not in love are the ones who are wrong.

I committed the worst sin a man can commit. I have not been happy.

Being with you or without you is the measure of my time.

What hollow hide my soul not see your absence like a terrible sun without sunset shines final and ruthless?

Happiness does not need to be transmuted into beauty, but the misfortune itself.

It hurts a woman in the whole body.

Falling in love is to create a religion whose God is fallible.

Neither the privacy of your clear front as a party nor custom of your body, still mysterious and tacit and child, or the succession of your life assuming words or silences will please as mysterious as watching your dream involved in the vigil of my arms .

Today not make my almond orchard. Are your memory.

Your absence surrounds me like the rope throat, sinking sea.

Over the years I have observed that beauty, like happiness, is common. Not a day goes by that we are not, a moment in paradise.

I’m alone and no one in the mirror.

Maybe because I do not see happiness as something unattainable, now I know that happiness can occur at any time and can not be pursued.

War, like women, serves to prove to men.

The time can get sick when boredom comes in the couple. If you fall ill the time between the two, it not is the same kiss, the kiss not know what to do, what my mouth fresh kiss kiss if you fall ill time.