He was the only one who had enough lucidity to sense the truth of the fact that time also stumbled and had accidents and could therefore splinter and leave an externalized fragment in a room.

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One Hundred Years Of Solitude

The world was reduced to the surface of her skin and her inner self was safe from all bitterness.

Courtesy: Gabriel García Márquez (One Hundred Years of Solitude)

One Hundred Years Of Solitude

She had reached old age with all of her nostalgias intact.

Courtesy: Gabriel García Márquez (One Hundred Years of Solitude)

One Hundred Years Of Solitude

(She) wondered if it was not preferable to lie down once and for all in her grave and let them throw the earth over her, and she asked God, without fear, if he really believed that people were made of iron in order to bear so many troubles and mortifications, and asking over and over she was stirring up her own confusion and she felt irrepressible desires to let herself go and scamper about like a foreigner and allow herself at last an instant of rebellion, that instant yearned for so many times and so many times postponed, putting her resignation aside and shitting on everything once and for all and drawing out of her heart the infinite stacks of bad words that she had been forced to swallow over a century of conformity.

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One Hundred Years Of Solitude

The world was so recent that many things lacked names, and in order to indicate them it was necessary to point.

Courtesy: Gabriel García Márquez (One Hundred Years of Solitude)

One Hundred Years Of Solitude

… the search for lost things is hindered by routine habits and that is why it is so difficult to find them.

Courtesy: Gabriel García Márquez (One Hundred Years of Solitude)

One Hundred Years Of Solitude

(He) could understand only that the secret to a good old age is simply an honorable pact with solitude.

Courtesy: Gabriel García Márquez (One Hundred Years of Solitude)

One Hundred Years Of Solitude