Lost in the solitude of his immense power, he began to lose direction.

Blood circulated through her veins with the fluidity of a song that branched off into the most hidden areas of her body and returned to her heart, purified by love.

He could not understand why he had needed so many words to explain what he felt in war because one was enough: fear. ~Jose Aracadio Segundo Buendia After the second banana slaughter

Everyone has three lives: a public life, a private life, and a secret life.

Ultimately, literature is nothing but carpentry.

It is not that the girl is unfit for everything, it is that she is not of this world.

It is life, more than death, that has no limits.