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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.
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
Real
Agony
Heart
Joyful
Love
Birthday
Life
Safe
Dies
Lasts
Last
Hundredth
Happy
Condemned
More quotes by Gabriel Garcia Marquez
What does he say?' he asked. 'He’s very sad,’ Úrsula answered, ‘because he thinks that you’re going to die.' 'Tell him,' the colonel said, smiling, 'that a person doesn’t die when he should but when he can.
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It is not that the girl is unfit for everything, it is that she is not of this world.
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He did not dare to console her, knowing that it would have been like consoling a tiger run thru by a spear.
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For those who may be hurting over lost love: Don't cry because it is over... smile because it happened.
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Morality, too, is a question of time.
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Nothing one does in bed is immoral if it helps to perpetuate love.
Gabriel Garcia Marquez
She knew that it would not be easy to submit to his miserliness, or the foolishness of his premature appearance of age, or his maniacal sense of order, or his eagerness to as for everything and give nothing at all in return, but despite all this, no man was better company because no other man in the world was so in need of love.
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Today, when I saw you, I realized that what is between us is nothing more than an illusion.
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She was a ghost in a strange house that overnight had become immense and solitary and through which she wandered without purpose, asking herself in anguish which one of them was deader: the man who had died or the woman he had left behind.
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To oppression, plundering and abandonment, we respond with life.
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Perhaps this is what the stories meant when they called somebody heartsick. Your heart and your stomach and your whole insides felt empty and hollow and aching.
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The woman let out an expansive laugh that resounded through the house like a spray of broken glass.
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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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In journalism just one fact that is false prejudices the entire work. In contrast, in fiction one single fact that is true gives legitimacy to the entire work. That's the only difference, and it lies in the commitment of the writer. A novelist can do anything he wants so long as he makes people believe in it.
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And nevertheless, when they watched him leave the house, this man they themselves had urged to conquer the world, then they were the ones left with the terror that he would never return. That was their life. Love, if it existed, was something separate: another life.
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Love becomes greater and nobler in calamity.
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More than mother and son, they were accomplices in solitude.
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The truth is I'm getting old, I said. We already are old, she said with a sigh. What happens is that you don't feel it on the inside, but from the outside everybody can see it.
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Hate and love are reciprocal passions.
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There's no greater misfortune than dying alone.
Gabriel Garcia Marquez