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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.

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
Weakness
Becoming
Face
Age
Faces
Truth
Soul
Manage
Love
Aware

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He could not understand why he had needed so many words to explain what he felt in war because one was enough: fear. ~Jose Aracadio Segundo Buendia After the second banana slaughter
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A famous writer who wants to continue writing has to be constantly defending himself against fame.
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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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They looked like two children, she told me. And that thought frightened her, because she'd always felt that only children are capable of everything.
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I think that the idea that I'm writing for many more people than I ever imagined has created a certain general responsibility that is literary and political. There's even pride involved, in not wanting to fall short of what I did before.
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He really had been through death, but he had returned because he could not bear the solitude.
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wisdom comes to us when it can no longer do any good.
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It had to teach her to think of love as a state of grace: not the means to anything but the alpha and omega, an end it itself.
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It was, at last, real life, with my heart safe and condemned to die of happy love in the joyful agony of any day after my hundredth birthday.
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In that way the long-awaited visit, for which both had prepared questions and had even anticipated answers, was once more the usual everyday conversation.
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There was a house at the foot of the tower, close to the thunder of the waves breaking against the cliffs, where love was more intense because it seemed like a shipwreck.
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Don't open that door, she said. The hallway is full of difficult dreams. And I asked her: How do you know? And she told me: Because I was there a moment ago and I had to come back when I discovered I was sleeping on my heart.
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Necessity has the face of a dog.
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Only God knows how much I love you.
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Tricks you need to transform something which appears fantastic, unbelievable into something plausible, credible, those I learned from journalism. The key is to tell it straight. It is done by reporters and by country folk.
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In the end all books are written for your friends. The problem after writing One Hundred Years of Solitude was that now I no longer know whom of the millions of readers I am writing for this upsets and inhibits me. It's like a million eyes are looking at you and you don't really know what they think.
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Fiction was invented the day Jonas arrived home and told his wife that he was three days late because he had been swallowed by a whale.
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You can't eat hope,' the woman said. You can't eat it, but it sustains you,' the colonel replied.
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A lie is more comfortable than doubt, more useful than love, more lasting than truth.
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He allowed himself to be swayed by his conviction that human beings are not born once and for all on the day their mothers give birth to them, but that life obliges them over and over again to give birth to themselves.
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