Best 67 quotes in «argentina quotes» category

You come to me, you appear to me in the night, the fact that you're not here appears to me, that I can't tell you this even though I pretend like I can, not being able to ever tell you is still something I can't understand. That you could have taken so long to decompose, too, that, too, I can't believe there's still so much left of you, down there, buried, hair and things like that, skin. I don't want to take anything, I never wanted to, and I would give (I don't know what, not everything because you wouldn't be there, but I'd give a lot) so much to be able to tell you, for real, to see you, to sing a song with you, shout it out hugging each other, have you over to my apartment, for you to get to know my house and my boyfriend, the one I have now, and have him get to know you and have you tell me which one's better, which one you like better, if it's Juli, if it's him, even though obviously you would like Manuel better, and in reality you wouldn't care about either of them, because the two of us is enough, there's nothing else, we never needed anything else, although we did.

And now with Argentina out, they will be on the plane home with France

Argentina is a marvelous place. Argentines are great bankers of information. They import information; if someone sneezes in Milan or in New York, they clean their faces very fast there.

Argentina has the best bird shooting in the world.

Argentina and Brasil are both extremely good south american teams who'll play a central role at the worldcup.

Argentina is my country, my family, my way of expressing myself. I would trade all of my records for the World Cup trophy.

Argentina won't be at Euro 2000 because they're from South America.

At the Argentina game, how would you have guessed that Darren Anderton would have gone off with cramp?

If you're a Kennedy and you go to Italy or you go to Argentina, you're treated as royalty. And in the United States, we're endlessly fascinated by the family.

If I could apologise and go back and change history I would do. But the goal is still a goal, Argentina became world champions and I was the best player in the world

If I have to apply five turns to the screw each day for the happiness of Argentina, I will do it.

I am encouraged to see women are being elected in Chile, Argentina, Liberia, Ireland. More is more.

I'm dealing with Mexico, I'm dealing with Argentina. We were dealing in this case with Mike Flynn. All this information gets put into The Washington Post and The New York Times, and I'm saying, what's going to happen when I'm dealing on the Middle East? We've got to stop it. That's why it's a criminal penalty.

In Argentina at various tournaments, it's great. Every day it's full, everybody's crazy about tennis, everybody wants to play tennis.

I was, I am and I always will be a drug addict. A person who gets involved in drugs has to fight it everyday.

I'm very comfortable in Argentina. I was raised there as a baby and stayed there until I was 11 years old, so the first decade of my life or my formative years were spent in Argentina. I stayed in tune with the food, music and language.

Just short of my 40th birthday, I told my wife, Beth, I was going to build us a little weekend place in...well, in the uh, Southern Hemisphere. The deep Southern Hemisphere, actually. New Zealand, maybe. Or Argentina. Possibly Chile. She suggested medication.

One of the big problems in America's economic polarization and shrinkage is that pensions can't be paid. So there are going to be defaults on pensions here, just like Europeans are insisting in rolling back pensions. You can look at Greece and Argentina as the future of America.

I repeat what I always say: I want the best for Argentina in every way. I never try to make trouble for anybody.

My uncle is from Argentina, so I grew up hearing Spanish. My Spanish isn't very good, but my pronunciation isn't terrible.

My favorite scene that I ever filmed was singing "Don't Cry For Me Argentina" from the balcony of the Casa Rosada in Argentina [where the real Eva Peron once stood] during Evita. That was amazing. SO real and surreal. Bizarre.

People always ask me, when I had the idea for TOMS, did it change my life? As romantic and noble as it is, no it did not change my life. But when I went to Argentina on that first shoe-drop, it did change my life.

One thing I like about Argentina, they only cook with salt; that's it.

El pasado es la sustancia de que el tiempo está hecho; por ello es que éste se vuelve pasado en seguida.

Stoichkov is a great person and an exceptional player... Only if we had him at Napoli... can you imagine the Stoichkov-Maradona attacking duo?

The pope [Francis] takes his vocabulary from his pastoral experience, not from the rhetorical tool kit of liberation theology, with its Marxist yammering about "center" and "periphery." The "peripheries," for Francis, are all those who have fallen through the cracks of late-modernity and post-modernity - in his native Argentina, because of colossal corruption, political and financial.

When I first came out of Argentina to Europe, the flight took 36 hours. Now it takes 12 hours, and the world is still shrinking.

While Argentina, Brazil, and Chile - what in textbooks used to be called the ABC countries - seem settled into democratic politics and free market economics, the Andean countries are in disarray.

A ferramenta das vanguardas, sempre conforme minha visão pessoal, é o procedimento. (...) Construtivismo, escritura automática, ready-made, dodecafonismo, cut-up, acaso, indeterminação. Os grandes artistas do século XX não são os que fizeram obra, mas aqueles que inventaram procedimentos para que a obra se fizesse sozinha, ou não se fizesse.

É com os escritores imaginários que eu aprendo o que quero fazer. Por exemplo, Stephen Dedalus ou Nick Adams. Leio suas vidas como um modo de entender do que se trata. Não tenho interesse em me inspirar nos escritores "reais". O desprezo de Dedalus pela família, pela religião e pela pátria será o meu. Silêncio, exílio e astúcia.

...el Día Uno es todo el primer momento de tu vida en el cual estás atravesado por las instituciones y aprendés, en el mejor de los casos, a desconfiar de ellas, mientras dejás que tejan hilos firmes, en tu cráneo, con la intención de no dejar espacios vacíos: los agujeros del sistema [...] El Día Dos empieza y su amanecer es plateado, con una nueva y no menos firme institución que son las sustancias, legales o ilegales, y algún tipo de pretensión, o nada. En los dos casos, todos los días son el mismo.

Em 1923, vivendo em Berlim, Kafka costumava ir a um parque, o Steglitz, que ainda existe. Certo dia encontrou uma menina chorando, tinha perdido sua boneca. Kafka naquele instante inventou uma história: a boneca não estava perdida, apenas tinha saído de viagem para conhecer o mundo. Tinha escrito uma casa, que ele possuía em casa e lhe traria no dia seguinte. E assim foi: dedicou aquela noite a escrever a carta, com toda a sinceridade. (...) No dia seguinte, a menina esperava-o no parque, e a ‘correspondência’ prosseguiu à razão de uma carta por dia, durante três semanas. A boneca nunca esquecia de enviar o seu amor à menina, de quem lembrava e a quem abandonava. Suas aventuras no estrangeiro a mantinham longe, e com a aceleração própria do mundo da fantasia, tais aventuras acabaram em noivado, compromisso, casamento e filhos, de modo que a volta era adiada indefinidamente. Isso para que então a menina, leitora fascinada desse romance epistolar, se conformasse com a perda, a que por fim acabou vendo como ganância. Privilegiada menina berlinense, única leitora do livro mais belo de Kafka. (...) Tendemos a sorrir diante do choro das crianças, seus dramas nos parecem menores e fáceis de solucionar. Mas para elas não são. Fazer o esforço de entrar nas relatividades de seu mundo equivale ao trabalho de entrar no mundo de um artista, onde tudo é signo. O contrato de uma menina com sua boneca é um contrato semiótico, uma criação de sentido, sustentada pela tensão verossímil com a fantasia. (...) para o escritor não se trata apenas de observar, é preciso descobrir os signos ocultos naquilo que se observa.

El nombre de una mujer me delata. Me duele una mujer en todo el cuerpo.

The tango is really a combination of many cultures, though it eventually became the national music of Argentina.

At a lunchtime reception for the diplomatic corps in Washington, given the day before the inauguration of Barack Obama as president, I was approached by a good-looking man who extended his hand. 'We once met many years ago,' he said. 'And you knew and befriended my father.' My mind emptied, as so often happens on such occasions. I had to inform him that he had the advantage of me. 'My name is Hector Timerman. I am the ambassador of Argentina.' In my above album of things that seem to make life pointful and worthwhile, and that even occasionally suggest, in Dr. King’s phrase as often cited by President Obama, that there could be a long arc in the moral universe that slowly, eventually bends toward justice, this would constitute an exceptional entry. It was also something more than a nudge to my memory. There was a time when the name of Jacobo Timerman, the kidnapped and tortured editor of the newspaper La Opinion in Buenos Aires, was a talismanic one. The mere mention of it was enough to elicit moans of obscene pleasure from every fascist south of the Rio Grande: finally in Argentina there was a strict ‘New Order’ that would stamp hard upon the international Communist-Jewish collusion. A little later, the mention of Timerman’s case was enough to derail the nomination of Ronald Reagan’s first nominee as undersecretary for human rights; a man who didn’t seem to have grasped the point that neo-Nazism was a problem for American values. And Timerman’s memoir, Prisoner without a Name, Cell without a Number, was the book above all that clothed in living, hurting flesh the necessarily abstract idea of the desaparecido: the disappeared one or, to invest it with the more sinister and grisly past participle with which it came into the world, the one who has been ‘disappeared.’ In the nuances of that past participle, many, many people vanished into a void that is still unimaginable. It became one of the keywords, along with escuadrone de la muerte or ‘death squads,’ of another arc, this time of radical evil, that spanned a whole subcontinent. Do you know why General Jorge Rafael Videla of Argentina was eventually sentenced? Well, do you? Because he sold the children of the tortured rape victims who were held in his private prison. I could italicize every second word in that last sentence without making it any more heart-stopping. And this subhuman character was boasted of, as a personal friend and genial host, even after he had been removed from the office he had defiled, by none other than Henry Kissinger. So there was an almost hygienic effect in meeting, in a new Washington, as an envoy of an elected government, the son of the brave man who had both survived and exposed the Videla tyranny.

He wrote very well in those days, as it happens, much better than he does now. He had absolute convictions, and style is nothing more than the absolute conviction of possessing a style.

For all its outwardly easy Latin charm, Buenos Aires was making me feel sick and upset, so I did take that trip to the great plains where the gaucho epics had been written, and I did manage to eat a couple of the famous asados: the Argentine barbecue fiesta (once summarized by Martin Amis's John Self as 'a sort of triple mixed grill swaddled in steaks') with its slavish propitiation of the sizzling gods of cholesterol. Yet even this was spoiled for me: my hosts did their own slaughtering and the smell of drying blood from the abattoir became too much for some reason (I actually went 'off' steak for a good few years after this trip). Then from the intrepid Robert Cox of the Buenos Aires Herald I learned another jaunty fascist colloquialism: before the South Atlantic dumping method was adopted, the secret cremation of maimed and tortured bodies at the Navy School had been called an asado. In my youth I was quite often accused, and perhaps not unfairly, of being too politicized and of trying to import politics into all discussions. I would reply that it wasn’t my fault if politics kept on invading the private sphere and, in the case of Argentina at any rate, I think I was right. The miasma of the dictatorship pervaded absolutely everything, not excluding the aperitifs and the main course.

From 1976 to 1983, Washington supported a devastating military dictatorship in Argentina that ran all branches of government, outlawed elections, and encouraged school and business leaders to provide information on subversive people. The administration took control of the police, banned political and union organizations, and tried to eliminate all oppositional elements in the country through harassment, torture, and murder. Journalists, students, and union members faced a particularly large amount of bloody repression, thus ridding the nation of a whole generation of social movement leaders. As was the case in other Latin American countries, the threat of communism and armed guerrilla movements was used as an excuse for Argentina's dictatorial crackdowns. Hundreds of torture camps and prisons were created. Many of the dead were put into mass graves or thrown out of places into the ocean. Five hundred babies of the murdered were given to torturers' families and the assets of the dead totaling in the tens of millions of dollars, were all divided up among the perpetrators of the nightmare. Thirty thousand people were killed in Argentina's repression.

Heredé de mis antepasados las ansias de huir. Dicen que mi sangre es europea. Yo siento que cada glóbulo procede de un punto distinto. De cada nación, de cada provincia, de cada isla, golfo, accidente, archipiélago, oasis. De cada trozo de tierra o de mar han usurpado algo y así me formaron, condenándome a la eterna búsqueda de un lugar de origen. Con los labios expresamente dibujados para exhalar quejas. Con la frente estrujada por todas las dudas. Con la malicia instintiva de la prohibición. Heredé el paso vacilante con objeto de no estatizarme nunca con firmeza en lugar alguno. ¡En todo y en nada! ¡En nada y en todo!

Argentina. The word itself had lost little of its power to startle and had, due to my ignorance of the physical place it occupied on the globe, assumed a peculiar life of its own. There was the harsh Ar at the beginning, which called up gold, idols, lost cities in the jungle, which in turn led to the hushed and sinister chamber of Gen, with the bright, interrogative Tina at the end—all nonsense, of course, but then it seemed in some muddled way that name itself, one of the few concrete facts available to me, might itself be a cryptogram or clue.

I regard anti-Semitism as ineradicable and as one element of the toxin with which religion has infected us. Perhaps partly for this reason, I have never been able to see Zionism as a cure for it. American and British and French Jews have told me with perfect sincerity that they are always prepared for the day when 'it happens again' and the Jew-baiters take over. (And I don't pretend not to know what they are talking about: I have actually seen the rabid phenomenon at work in modern and sunny Argentina and am unable to forget it.) So then, they seem to think, they will take refuge in the Law of Return, and in Haifa, or for all I know in Hebron. Never mind for now that if all of world Jewry did settle in Palestine, this would actually necessitate further Israeli expansion, expulsion, and colonization, and that their departure under these apocalyptic conditions would leave the new brownshirts and blackshirts in possession of the French and British and American nuclear arsenals. This is ghetto thinking, hardly even fractionally updated to take into account what has changed. The important but delayed realization will have to come: Israeli Jews are a part of the diaspora, not a group that has escaped from it. Why else does Israel daily beseech the often-flourishing Jews of other lands, urging them to help the most endangered Jews of all: the ones who rule Palestine by force of arms? Why else, having supposedly escaped from the need to rely on Gentile goodwill, has Israel come to depend more and more upon it? On this reckoning, Zionism must constitute one of the greatest potential non sequiturs in human history.

It is not often that you see life and fiction take each other by the hand and dance.

Narrar es jugar al póquer con un rival que puede mirarte las cartas.

Many governments employ torture but this was the first time that the element of Saturnalia and pornography in the process had been made so clear to me. If you care to imagine what any inadequate or cruel man might do, given unlimited power over a woman, then anything that you can bring yourself to suspect was what became routine in ESMA, the Navy Mechanics School that became the headquarters of the business. I talked to Dr. Emilio Mignone, a distinguished physician whose daughter Monica had disappeared into the precincts of that hellish place. What do you find to say to a doctor and a humanitarian who has been gutted by the image of a starving rat being introduced to his daughter's genitalia? Like hell itself the school was endorsed and blessed by priests, in case any stray consciences needed to be stilled.

I was extremely shy of approaching my hero but he, as I found out, was sorely in need of company. By then almost completely blind, he was claustrated and even a little confused and this may help explain the rather shocking attitude that he took to the blunt trauma that was being inflicted in the streets and squares around him. 'This was my country and it might be yet,' he intoned to me when the topic first came up, as it had to: 'But something came between it and the sun.' This couplet he claimed (I have never been able to locate it) was from Edmund Blunden, whose gnarled hand I had been so excited to shake all those years ago, but it was not the Videla junta that Borges meant by the allusion. It was the pre-existing rule of Juan Perón, which he felt had depraved and corrupted Argentine society. I didn't disagree with this at all—and Perón had victimized Borges's mother and sister as well as having Borges himself fired from his job at the National Library—but it was nonetheless sad to hear the old man saying that he heartily preferred the new uniformed regime, as being one of 'gentlemen' as opposed to 'pimps.' This was a touch like listening to Evelyn Waugh at his most liverish and bufferish. (It was also partly redeemed by a piece of learned philology or etymology concerning the Buenos Aires dockside slang for pimp: canfinflero. 'A canfinfla, you see,' said Borges with perfect composure, 'is a pussy or more exactly a cunt. So a canfinflero is a trafficker in cunt: in Anglo-Saxon we might say a 'cunter."' Had not the very tango itself been evolved in a brothel in 1880? Borges could talk indefinitely about this sort of thing, perhaps in revenge for having had an oversolicitous mother who tyrannized him all his life.)

Me gusteo fotos dispersas, automáticamente él hace lo mismo. Ya sé lo que va a pasar, esto va a durar unos días, unas semanas, después vamos a hablar levemente y nos vamos a ver y nunca vamos a gustarnos en serio aunque seamos hermosos juntos porque nos conocimos en el mercado virtual, en el supermercado sexual sin cuerpos. "Lo conocí por Facebook".

Ni la conquista de Tenochtitlán, ni las desigualdades de género ni la indigencia pueden explicarse sin comprender algo acerca de la capacidad de ciertas minorías o sectores para naturalizar ideas en una sociedad determinada. Desarmar esos mitos es condición necesaria para potenciar cambios sociales y culturales.

Once you understand the process of corporate globalization, you have to see that what happened in Argentina, the devastation of Argentina by the IMF, is part of the same machine that is destroying Iraq. Both are efforts to break open and to control markets. And so Argentina is destroyed by the chequebook, and Iraq is destroyed by the cruise missile. If the chequebook won't work, the cruise missile will. Hell hath no fury like a market scorned.

Now they're really amused, and burst into laughter. Someone tries a variation while still clapping hands: 'Clipped prick… clipped prick.' Whereupon they begin alternating while clapping their hands: 'Jew… Clipped prick… Jew… Clipped prick.' It seems they're no longer angry, merely having a good time. I keep bouncing in the chair and moaning as the electric shocks penetrate [....]

Obviamente me siento mucho más cerca de John Berger o de Calvino que de García Márquez.