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Mexico
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“In Mexico City we discovered its ceaseless activity, the constant, congested traffic of aggressive drivers, monuments lit up brightly as if to bring in ships out of the fog, and peñas, student-oriented coffee houses with child-size tables and chairs, patrons with knees at their chins listened as romantic, handsome youth belted out protest songs with lungs that carried the treble of volcanoes, lyrics of lava, penetrating as obsidian daggers.”
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“Mexico. Melancholy, profoundly right and wrong, it embraces as it strangulates.”
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“Acapulco in the sunset seems like a balm; it enters the blood like a drug after one inhalation of the scent of flowers, one glimpse of the bay iridescent like silk, the sunset like the inside of a shell, so much like the flesh of Venus.”
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“From the air the Mexican landscape looks as if it had been stirred with a giant spoon.”
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“... the arts of Mexico are heavy with the weight of the past, of gods that demanded the sacrifice of a thousand beating hearts in a day, of a world that ended every fifty-two years, of warriors who rushed into battle wearing the heads of jaguars or clothed in the flayed skins of their human victims.”
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“In Mexico a bachelor is a man who can't play the guitar.”
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“The U.S.-Mexican border es un herida abierta where the Third World grates against the first and bleeds. And before a scab forms it hemorrhages again, the lifeblood of two worlds merging to form a third country — a border culture.”
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“The Gringo, locked into the fiction of white superiority, seized complete political power, stripping Indians and Mexicans of their land while their feet were still rooted in it. Con el destierro y el exilo fuimos desuñados, destroncados, destripados — we were jerked out by the roots, truncated, disemboweled, dispossessed, and separated from our identity and our history.”
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“[Mexico is] a country where legends are invented and where people lull their pain listening to them ...”