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Gabriel Garcí­a Márquez

He sank into the rocking chair, the same one in which Rebecca had sat during the early days of the house to give embroidery lessons, and in which Amaranta had played Chinese checkers with Colonel Gerineldo Marquez, and in which Amarana Ursula had sewn the tiny clothing for the child, and in that flash of… Continue reading Gabriel Garcí­a Márquez

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Gabriel Garcí­a Márquez,

Thinking that it would console him, she took a piece of charcoal and erased the innumerable loves that he still owed her for, and she voluntarily brought up her own most solitary sadnesses so as not to leave him alone in his weeping. ― Gabriel Garcí­a Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude. (Harper; 1st edition… Continue reading Gabriel Garcí­a Márquez,

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Gabriel Garcí­a Márquez

The adolescents of my generation, greedy for life, forgot in body and soul about their hopes for the future until reality taught them that tomorrow was not what they had dreamed, and they discovered nostalgia. ― Gabriel Garcí­a Márquez, Memories of My Melancholy Whores. (Vintage 2006) Originally published October 19th 2004.

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Gabriel Garcí­a Márquez

Her first reaction was one of hope, because his eyes were open and shining with a radiant light she had never seen there before. She prayed to God to give him at least a moment so that he would not go without knowing how much she had love him despite all their doubts, and she… Continue reading Gabriel Garcí­a Márquez

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Gabriel Garcí­a Márquez

Without intending to, without even knowing it, he demonstrated with his life that his father had been right when he repeated until his dying day that there was no one with more common sense, no stonecutter more obstinate, no manager so lucid or dangerous, than a poet. ― Gabriel Garcí­a Márquez, Love in the Time… Continue reading Gabriel Garcí­a Márquez

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Classic · Excerpt · Latin-American Culture · Latin-American Literature · Magical Realism · Novel · Passage · Quote · Romance

Gabriel Garcí­a Márquez

… ideas that had often fluttered around her head like nocturnal birds but dissolved into a trickle of feathers when she tried to catch hold of them. There they were, simple, precise, just as she would have liked to say them.  — Gabriel García Márquez, Love in the Time of Cholera (Alfred A. Knopf, 1988)

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