| "Then I began to write."
|| Rain of Gold
| "I feel the thinness of his arms.
He turns. He asks if I am going home now too. It is, I realize,
the only thing he has said to me all evening."
||How the García Sisters Lost Their Accent
| "¿Y qué?: What of it?
Usually follows one's barrio designation; a challange."
||The Long Night of White Chickens
| "A product of past conflicts, it may
eventually serve as one of the factors in a better understanding."
|| The Holy Spirit of My Uncle's Cojones
| "Because he did not know, he would
strive to live. He thought of this and he remembered, and suddenly
he knew that for him there would never be a coming back."
|| With a Pistol in His Hand
|" ...and died in her sleep that night
- dreaming to awake on the other side of life, a miracle of God's.
|"Yes indeed, we all need a Tío Roberto in our lives. Q.E.P.D."
|"He felt the colld breath on his face,
lips on his lips, robbing the last breath going out of him. He
felt as if he was being born again."
||East Side Dreams
|"'What do you mean, he's different?'
she asked, not knowing what I meant. 'You'll see later. I just
wanted to let you know.' Well, later when she met hiim, she told
me, 'Now I know what you mean.'"
|| Don't Spit on My Corner
| "...I hear her, a black furred thing
lurking in the corners of my life, her magenta mouth opening,
wailing over some violation that lies at the center of my art."
||Dreaming in Cuban
|"'Hombre, all these weeks with the
mermaids and still with a sad face? Qué paso?'"
|"This is how it ended between Penny
and me. But not between my barrio and me, because I came back
to it and I'm still with it."
||A Death in the Sánchez Family
|"Seven families had forty-one toys,
including a bicycle that was rented out. The toys represented
3 percent of all purchases."
| "I unhooked the bicycle, mounted it,
and headed for the main high school, twenty blocks away where
I would be going in a week. Pumping slowly, I wondered about
the debating team and the other things Mr. Everett had mentioned."
| "It is also my birthday. I am fifty
years old. I will no longer write to you, mi amor. She will remember
everything. My love always, Celia."
||Zoot Suit Murders
|"Should you be interested in starting up
such a magazine, remember where you read it. I have the copyright,
|| The Hunger of Memory