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.

Her first reaction was one of hope, because his eyes were open and shining with a radiant light she had never seen there before. She prayed to God to give him at least a moment so that he would not go without knowing how much she had love him despite all their doubts, and she felt an irresistible longing to begin life with him over again so that they could say what they had left unsaid and do everything right that they had done badly in the past. But she had to give in to the intransigence of death. (Love in the Time of Cholera)

Just imagine, a cow on the balcony of the nation, what an awful thing, what a shitty country.

Justice limps along, but gets there all the same.

Time was not passing...it was turning in a circle.

Tell him,' the colonel said, smiling, 'that a person doesn’t die when he should but when he can.

Inspiration gives no warnings.