Namaste friends. This post is a collection of quotes from the book - Mexican Gothic by Silvia Moreno-Garcia. Mexican Gothic is a perfect summer horror read, a period thriller as rich in suspense as it is in lush ’50s atmosphere.
It’s so much more fun when a gentleman offers a lady a cigarette.
The unattractive will not procreate. Beauty attracts beauty and begets beauty. It is a means of selection.
I do my best thinking when I’m in motion.
Women needed to be liked or they’d be in trouble. A woman who is not liked is a bitch, and a bitch can hardly do anything: all avenues are closed to her.
Men were always so afraid of tears, of having a hysterical woman on their hands.
Our bodies hide so many mysteries and they tell so many stories without a single word, do they not?
Marriage could hardly be like the passionate romances one read about in books. It seemed to her, in fact, a rotten deal. Men would be solicitous and well behaved when they courted a woman, asking her out to parties and sending her flowers, but once they married, the flowers wilted. You didn’t have married men posting love letters to their wives.
The world is filled with so many extraordinary wonders, isn’t it? You could spend a lifetime peering in forests and jungles and never see one tenth of nature’s secrets.
In a sense all dreams foretell events, but some more clearly than others.
It is important to maintain a sense of order in one’s house, in one’s life. It helps you determine your place in the world, where you belong. Taxonomical classifications help place each creature atop its right branch. It’s no good to forget yourself, nor your obligations.
It was easy to kiss someone when it didn’t matter; it was more difficult when it might be meaningful.
It seems you are determined to be difficult today. I shouldn’t be surprised. Women can be terribly mercurial.
Nothing but meat, she was the equivalent of a cut of beef inspected by the butcher and wrapped up in waxed paper. An exotic little something to stir the loins and make the mouth water.
It’s the common lust of all men. He simply wants to have you, like a little butterfly in his collection. One more pretty girl.
You are right to think that I was grown like an orchid. Carefully manufactured, carefully reared. I am, yes, like an orchid. Accustomed to a certain climate, a certain amount of light and heat. I’ve been fashioned for a single end.
You like a hint of danger, but back home they wrap you in gauze, to keep you from breaking. But you’d like to break, wouldn’t you? You play with people and you wish someone would have the guts to play with you.
The future could not be predicted, and the shape of things could not be divined. To think otherwise was absurd.