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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.
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
House
Waves
Love
Breaking
Like
Foot
Intense
Shipwreck
Wave
Tower
Seemed
Cliffs
Close
Thunder
Feet
Towers
More quotes by Gabriel Garcia Marquez
Fame is very agreeable, but the bad thing is that it goes on 24 hours a day.
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Morality, too, is a question of time.
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If you love something - let. If it is yours - it will come back. I love you not because of who you are, but for who I am when I'm with you.
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Freedom is often the first casualty of war.
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She would say, Someone should invent something to do with things you cannot use anymore but that you still cannot throw out.
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Nothing resembles a person as much as the way he dies.
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She knew that he loved her above all else, more than anything in the world, but only for his own sake.
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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.
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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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An ash-gray dog with a white blaze on its forehead burst onto the rough terrain of the market on the first Sunday in December, knocked down tables of fried food, overturned Indians' stalls and lottery kiosks, and bit four people who happened to cross its path.
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She let him finish, scratching his head with the tips of her fingers, and without his having revealed that he was weeping from love, she recognized immediately the oldest sobs in the history of man.
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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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There had never been a death so foretold.
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Unfortunately many young writers are more concerned with fame than with their own work... It's much more important to write than to be written about.
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He was still too young to know that the heart's memory eliminates the bad and magnifies the good, and that thanks to this artifice we manage to endure the burden of the past.
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He was healthier than the rest of us, but when you listened with the stethoscope you could hear the tears bubbling inside his heart.
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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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The woman let out an expansive laugh that resounded through the house like a spray of broken glass.
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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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At some point, you no longer feel pain. Sensation disappears and reason is dulled, until you lose all grasp of time and place.
Gabriel Garcia Marquez
