The truth is that I know very few novelists who have been satisfied with the adaptation of their books for the screen.

Carmelia Montiel, a twenty-year-old virgin, had just bathed in orange-blossom water and was strewing rosemary leaves on Pilar Ternera's bed when the shot rang out. Aureliano José had been destined to find with her the happiness that Amaranta had denied him, to have seven children, and to die in her arms of old age, but the bullet that entered his back and shattered his chest had been directed by a wrong interpretation of the cards.

Both described at the same time how it was always March there and always Monday, and then they understood that José Arcadio Buendía was not as crazy as the family said, but that 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 eternalized fragment in a room.

For you was I born, for you do I have life, for you will I die, for you am I now dying.

Only God knows how much I love you.

One minute of reconciliation is worth more than a whole life of friendship!

He was healthier than the rest of us, but when you listened with the stethoscope you could hear the tears bubbling inside his heart.