Many years later, as he faced the firing squad, Colonel Aureliano Buendía was to remember that distant afternoon when his father took him to discover ice. ― Gabriel García Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude. (Harper; 1st edition June 24, 2003) Originally published June 1st 1967.
I was happy but happy is an adult word. You don’t have to ask a child about happy, you see it. They are or they are not. Adults talk about being happy because largely they are not. Talking about it is the same as trying to catch the wind. Much easier to let it blow… Continue reading Jeanette Winterson
But love is what we want, not freedom. Who then is the unluckier man? The beloved, who is given his heart’s desire and must for ever after fear its loss, or the free man, with his unlooked-for liberty, naked and alone between the captive armies of the earth?” ― Salman Rushdie, The Ground Beneath Her… Continue reading Salman Rushdie
But what is memory if not the language of feeling, a dictionary of faces and days and smells which repeat themselves like the verbs and adjectives in a speech, sneaking in behind the thing itself, into the pure present, making us sad or teaching us vicariously… — Julio Cortázar, Hopscotch. (Pantheon; 1st Pantheon pbk. ed… Continue reading Julio Cortázar
She wanted to find a way to love them in death, because she forgot how to love them in life. — Sherman Alexie, Reservation Blues. (Grove Press; Reprint edition February 7, 2005) Originally published January 1st 1995.
I have been Homer; shortly, I shall be No One, like Ulysses; shortly, I shall be all men; I shall be dead. — Jorge Luis Borges, from “The Immortal,” Labyrinths: Selected Stories & Other Writings. (New Directions; Augmented edition 1964) Originally published 1962.
Don’t let yourself die without knowing the wonder of fucking with love. ― Gabriel García Márquez, Memories of My Melancholy Whores. (Vintage 2006) Originally published October 19th 2004.