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She would not shed a tear, she would not waste the rest of her years simmering in the maggot broth of memory.
Gabriel Garcia Marquez
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Gabriel Garcia Marquez
Age: 87 †
Born: 1927
Born: March 6
Died: 2014
Died: April 17
Autobiographer
Journalist
Novelist
Playwright
Poet Lawyer
Prosaist
Publisher
Screenwriter
Short Story Writer
Writer
LA
California
Gabriel José García Márquez
Gabriel Garcia Marquez
Gabriel Jose Garcia Marquez
Gabriel José de la Concordia García Márquez
Gabriel Jose de la Concordia Garcia Marquez
Memories
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Years
Maggots
Would
Tear
Shed
Memory
Waste
Tears
Maggot
Rest
Simmering
More quotes by Gabriel Garcia Marquez
Then the writing became so fluid that I sometimes felt as if I were writing for the sheer pleasure of telling a story, which may be the human condition that most resembles levitation.
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Nevertheless, no matter how much they killed themselves with work, no matter how much money they eked out, and no matter how many schemes they thought of, their guardian angels were asleep with fatigue while they put in coins and took them out trying to get just enough to live with.
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The people of the United States are one of the people I most admire in the world. The only thing I don't understand is why a country that manages to do so well cannot do better in choosing its president.
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He thought that the world would make more rapid progress without the burden of old people.
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I discovered the miracle that all things that sound are music, including the dishes and silverware in the dishwasher, as long as they fulfill the illusion of showing us where life is heading.
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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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Amputees suffer pains, cramps, itches in the leg that is no longer there. That is how she felt without him, feeling his presence where he no longer was.
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More than mother and son, they were accomplices in solitude.
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Invulnerable to time, dedicated to the messianic happiness of thinking for us, knowing that we knew that he would not take any decision for us that did not have our measure, for he had not survived everything because of his inconceivable courage or his infinite prudence but because he was the only one among us who knew the real size of our destiny.
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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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I always had understood that dying of love was mere poetic license.
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A falcon who chases a warlike crane can only hope for a life of pain.
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Give me a prejudice and I will move the world.
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No, not rich. I am a poor man with money, which is not the same thing.
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Aureliano not only understood by then, he also lived his brother’s experiences as something of his own, for on one occasion when the latter was explaining in great detail the mechanism of love, he interrupted him to ask: “What does it feel like?” José Arcadio gave an immediate reply: “It’s like an earthquake.
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The truth was that I could not manage my soul, and I was becoming aware of old age because of my weakness in the face of love.
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Become a better person and be sure to know who you are, before meeting someone new and hoping that person knows who you are
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We'll grow old waiting.
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Many years later, in front of the firing squad, colonel Aureliano Buendía would remember that distant afternoon his father took him to see ice.
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opened the door a crack wide enough for the entire world to pass through .
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