He repeated until his dying day that there was no one with more common sense, no stonecutter more obstinate, no manager more lucid or dangerous, than a poet.

It is a triumph of life that old people lose their memories of inessential things.

Intrigued by that enigma, he dug so deeply into her sentiments that in search of interest he found love, because by trying to make her love him he ended up falling in love with her.

Life is not what one lived, but what One remembers and how One remembers it in order to recount it

Jealousy knows more than truth does.

As I kissed her the heat of her body increased, and it exhaled a wild, untamed fragrance.

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