Though married, I practice celibacy very strictly.

The only thing that I lack is a single letter from you.

The midwife took the risk of dragging me out by my foot and there I was!

I thought just speaking to Nathan was like participating in a revolution.

It was not possible to think of the youth’s transgression as accidental.

The house you’ve drawn has no wings and its tail has been cut off.

A thinking woman slowly drowns in eternal sorrow in the streets of Kars.

I tell my grandmother that I have two lovers and want to keep them both.

Someone will remember the disappeared, and while remembering, will write verses dedicated to them.

In Yoko Tawada's dystopian tale, the entire Japanese archipelago is rendered uninhabitable when a fighter plane piloted by a teenager loses control and crashes into a recently reactivated nuclear plant.

And then what did you do, he asked, and she said, I watched.

We simply couldn’t tolerate rogue fruit infiltrating Tokyo and corrupting public morals.

When you hold an egg in your hand, its memories are communicated to you through its shell, you know.

The fragments of the girl come tumbling down.

I watch the city lose its shape like a dripping watercolor.

Not once in his bowling alley had he heard that special, unforgettable sound.

The bus stop by the train station had moved. It was further away.

The flowers depicted, which must have differed from one to the next, are also hazy.

No matter how old I become, I will still go on like this, not knowing.

The skyscraper where I grew up was demolished decades ago and supplanted by a thousand-story housing block.

The newlyweds reached his table and Romero hid his repugnance behind hypocritical congratulations.

All Sor Juana scholars concur that Sor Juana was a monster.

You have to be a savage to play this role. It’s essential.

The train left. The woman didn't come.

Would you believe it, he's pulled through again!

“I did smoke. . . but with what, my dear, with what!”

How did they get my number . . . ?

Uchronia is a narrative mode that has enjoyed both critical recognition and popular acceptance throughout literary history.

Above an opening in the robot's chest are the words In the name of Jesus protect man and beast from the followers of Satan.

You had known Ramiro from the years of the First Dictatorship, those long-ago days of pick-up soccer games and fruit popsicles.

His pains originate in another continent. They are graver, and more ancient.

“Juárez has died, Your Majesty.”

The smell of the cyborg-gasoline gives me a pang of withdrawal which makes my hands sweat.

Augusto Pinochet Ugarte and Gonzalo Leigh Meza are arrested under the charge of sedition on the evening of September 10.

You look away. The yolk’s yellow circle reminds you of an eye.

The father could no longer tolerate the oddities of that son who was turning him into the laughingstock of Assisi.

The shovels’ dull thud mixed with the steady patter of rain.

“Little lady, do you have a craving for cozonac?”

As a child, he suffered from the disease called humility. Poor man!

To make haz de necaz is to transform tribulation through the play of wit.

“Let us make a pact, gentlemen. Let us brew a Magical Potion and drink together.

Do not forget the magical forces you used today may circle back to you some day to return the favor.

It terrified me to hear the words “honor” and “flesh” in the same sentence.

I was brought into the world on a day of black misery.

Karim believed in Coke the way other people believed in Jesus and Mary.

This story is the worst story in the world—it's just terrible.

Whenever teachers said there was good news, it almost always turned out to be nothing of the sort.

Something stinks round here, I said, and stopped. It’s coming from the ravine.

The older you are, the less exposure you can tolerate.

I even had erotic dreams in which the chess pieces lusted after each other.

The leg I don’t have is what hurts.

Krakow in my childhood didn’t belong to anyone.

We should’ve sorted it out when he was nine, when he hung the neighbor’s cat.

He tries to cram St. John of Nepomuk into a shaggy fur coat.

They were different from the Germans she knew in the Reich.

Bgashev’s been dead a few years now and he’s been coming to see me all this time.

Of course I was named after Leonid Brezhnev!

I explained at the top of my voice that my daughter had disappeared.

His father had just been taken down from the branch of a ceiba tree.

Inside the trunk was another lifeless body.