his mysterious resources had awakened in her a curiosity that was difficult to resist, but she had never imagined that curiosity was one of the many masks of love.

In some way impossible to ascertain, after so many years of absense, Jose Arcadio was still an autumnal child, terribly sad and solitary.

Don't struggle so much, the best things happen when not expected.

It's much more important to write than to be written about.

Ultimately, literature is nothing but carpentry. With both you are working with reality, a material just as hard as wood.

The year I turned ninety, I wanted to give myself the gift of a night of wild love with an adolescent virgin.

And both of them remained floating in an empty universe where the only everyday & eternal reality was love.