Gabriel Garcia Marquez Quotes
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One night a friend lent me a book of short stories by Franz Kafka. I went back to the pension where I was staying and began to read The Metamorphosis. The first line almost knocked me off the bed. I was so surprised. The first line reads, “As Gregor Samsa awoke that morning from uneasy dreams, he found himself transformed in his bed into a gigantic insect. . . .” When I read the line I thought to myself that I didn’t know anyone was allowed to write things like that. If I had known, I would have started writing a long time ago. So I immediately started writing short stories.
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In the plenitude of their relationship, Florentina Ariza asked himself which of the two was love: the turbulent bed or the peaceful Sunday afternoons, and Sara Noriega calmed him with the simple argument that love was everything they did naked. She said, 'Spiritual love from the waist up and physical love from the waist down.
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She knew that he loved her above all else, more than anything in the world, but only for his own sake.
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Because he had not done what she, with her heart in her mouth, had hoped he would do, which was to be a man: deny everything, and swear on his life it was not true, and grow indignant at the false accusation, and shout curses at this ill-begotten society that did not hesitate to trample on one's honor, and remain imperturbable even when forced with crushing proofs of his disloyalty.
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It was the time when they loved each other best, without hurry or excess, when both were most conscious of and grateful for their incredible victories over adversity.
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One of the most difficult things is the first paragraph. I have spent many months on a first paragraph, and once I get it, the rest just comes out very easily.
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Lost in the solitude of his immense power, he began to lose direction.
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He soon acquired the forlorn look that one sees in vegetarians.
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It was also her nature that caused her letters to avoid emotional pitfalls and confine themselves to relating the events of her daily life in the utilitarian style of a ship's log. In reality they were distracted letters, intended to keep the coals alive without putting her hand in the fire, while Florentino Ariza burned himself alive in every line.
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He was weary of the uncertainty of the vicious circle of that eternal war that always found him in the same place, but always older, wearier, even more in the position of not knowing why, or how, or even when.
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Inspiration gives no warnings.
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The rain would not have bothered Fernanda, after all, her whole life had been spent as if it were raining.
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Fernanda, on the other hand, looked for it in vain along the paths of her everyday itinerary without knowing that the search for lost things is hindered by routine habits and that is why it is so difficult to find them.
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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.
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Children's lies are signs of great talent.
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Do not allow me to forget you...
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My most important problem was destroying the lines of demarcation that separate what seems real from what seems fantastic.
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The world was reduced to the surface of her skin and her inner self was safe from all bitterness.
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At some point, you no longer feel pain. Sensation disappears and reason is dulled, until you lose all grasp of time and place.
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A great commotion immobilized her in her center of gravity, planted her in her place, and her defensive will was demolished by the irresistible anxiety to discover what the orange bells and whistles and the invisible globes on the other side of death were like.
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...opened the door a crack wide enough for the entire world to pass through .
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He pleaded so much that he lost his voice. His bones began to fill with words.
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I don't have a method. All I do is read a lot, think a lot, and rewrite constantly. It's not a scientific thing.
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Carmelia Montiel, a twenty-year-old virgin, had just bathed in orange-blossom water and was strewing rosemary leaves on Pilar Ternera's bed when the shot rang out. Aureliano José had been destined to find with her the happiness that Amaranta had denied him, to have seven children, and to die in her arms of old age, but the bullet that entered his back and shattered his chest had been directed by a wrong interpretation of the cards.