Gabriel Garcia Marquez Quotes
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Ah, me, if this is love, then how it torments.
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He was still too young to know that the heart's memory eliminates the bad and magnifies the good, and that thanks to this artifice we manage to endure the burden of the past.
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Very well, I will marry you if you promise not to make me eat eggplant.
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He said that love was an emotion contra natura that condemned two strangers to a base and unhealthy dependence, and the more intense it was, the more ephemeral.
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The only difference today between Liberals and Conservatives is that the Liberals go to mass at five o'clock and the Conservatives at eight.
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Her laugh was sad and taciturn, seemingly detached from any feeling of the moment, like something she kept in the cupboard and took out only when she had to, using it with no feeling of ownership, as if the infrequency of her smiles had made her forget the normal way to use them.
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I was asked the other day if I would be interested in the Nobel Prize, but I think that for me it would be an absolute catastrophe. I would certainly be interested in deserving it, but to
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I must warn you that the books I like are not necessarily the ones I think are the best. I like them for various reasons not always easy to explain.
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If you're going to be a writer you have to be one of the great ones... After all, there are better ways to starve to death.
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It is a triumph of life that old people lose their memories of inessential things.
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No matter what you do this year or in the next hundred, you will be dead forever.
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A person does not belong to a place until there is someone dead under the ground.
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One can be in love with several people at the same time, feel the sorrow with each, and not betray any of them.
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Once again she shuddered with the evidence that time was not passing, as she had just admitted, but that it was turning in a circle.
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Fame invades your private life. It takes away from the time that you spend with friends, and the time that you can work. It tends to isolate you from the real world.
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Just imagine, a cow on the balcony of the nation, what an awful thing, what a shitty country.
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Most critics don't realize that a novel like One Hundred Years of Solitude is a bit of a joke, full of signals to close friends; and so, with some pre-ordained right to pontificate they take on the responsibility of decoding the book and risk making terrible fools of themselves.
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He was healthier than the rest of us, but when you listened with the stethoscope you could hear the tears bubbling inside his heart.
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She would defend herself, saying that love, no matter what else it might be, was a natural talent. She would say: You are either born knowing how, or you never know.
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Nobody teaches life anything.
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Shame has poor memory.
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Jealousy knows more than truth does.
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She felt so old, so worn out, so far away from the best moments of her life that she even yearned for those that she remembered as the worst… Her heart of compressed ash, which had resisted the most telling blows of daily reality without strain, fell apart with the first waves of nostalgia. The need to feel sad was becoming a vice as the years eroded her. She became human in her solitude.
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An artisan without memories, whose only dream was to die of fatigue in the oblivion and misery of his little gold fishes.