It's more real to me here than if I went up," he suddenly heard himself say; and the fear lest that last shadow of reality should lose its edge kept him rooted to his seat as the minutes succeeded each other.

It’s the person who would sell his soul for a nickel, who is loudest in proclaiming his hatred of money—and he has good reason to hate it. The lovers of money are willing to work for it. They know they are able to deserve it.

Allow the petals of innocence to bloom with patience. Once fully bloomed they wither too quickly .

So I do not consider myself a chronicler of my fatherland or even a chronicler of Havana.

Written By Guillermo Cabrera Infante

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