How will I ever get out of this labyrinth!

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

All my life, I've been frightened at the moment I sit down to write.

Ah, me, if this is love, then how it torments.

A falcon who chases a warlike crane can only hope for a life of pain.

There's no greater misfortune than dying alone.

In that Macondo forgotten even by the birds, where the dust and the heat had become so strong that it was difficult to breathe, secluded by solitude and love and by the solitude of love in a house where it was almost impossible to sleep because of the noise of the red ants, Aureliano, and Amaranta Úrsula were the only happy beings, and the most happy on the face of the earth.