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Gabriel Garcia Marquez

"The uncertainty of the future made them turn their hearts toward the past. They saw themselves in the lost paradise of the deluge, splashing in the puddles in the courtyard, killing lizards to hang on Asrsula, pretending that they were going to bury her alive, and those memories revealed to them the truth that they had been happy together ever since they had had memory."

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"The uncertainty of the future made them turn their hearts toward the past. They saw themselves in the lost paradise of the deluge, splashing in the puddles in the courtyard, killing lizards to hang on Asrsula, pretending that they were going to bury her alive, and those memories revealed to them the truth that they had been happy together ever since they had had memory."

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"In her final years she would still recall the trip that, with the perverse lucidity of nostalgia, became more and more recent in her memory."

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"You think you can get rid of things, and people too-leave them behind. You don't know yet about the habit they have, of coming back."

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"Summertime. It was a song. It was a season. I wondered if that season would ever live inside of me."

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"Whenever you are transplanted, like me, you will understand how very delightful it is to meet with anything at all like what one has left behind."

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"A Tennyson garden, heavy with scent, languid; the return of the word swoon."

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"Sitting in his old schoolroom on the sofa with little cushions on the arms and looking into Natasha's wildly eager eyes, Rostov was carried back into that world of home and childhood which had no meaning for anyone else, but gave him some of the greatest pleasure in his life."

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Akiroq Brost

"When I was a kid, Toronto streets were deserted and quiet on Sundays, except for the sound of church bells I stood on the sidewalk one December listening to the Christmas bells - I've never forgotten that moment..."

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Akiroq Brost

"Every time I look at you autumn leaves come in between - does it matter they're the color of your hair - or they still fall in my memory?..."

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Akiroq Brost

"All I do is keep on running in my own cozy, homemade void, my own nostalgic silence. And this is a pretty wonderful thing. No matter what anybody else says."

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"Children inherit their parents' madness."
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"In her final years she would still recall the trip that, with the perverse lucidity of nostalgia, became more and more recent in her memory."
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"Arcadio had seen her many times working in her parents' small food store but he had never taken a good look at her because she had that rare virtue of never existing completely except at the opportune moment."
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"You can't eat hope,' the woman said.You can't eat it, but it sustains you,' the colonel replied."
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"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."
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Gabriel Garcia Marquez
"A mother discovers with great delight that one does not love one's children just because they are one's children but because of the friendship formed while raising them."
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"The feverish excitement of twenty had been something very noble, very beautiful, but it had not been love."
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"Sitting in the wicker rocking chair with her interrupted work in her lap, Amaranta watched Aureliano José, his chin covered with foam, stropping his razor to give himself his first shave. His blackheads bled and he cut his upper lip as he tried to shape a mustache of blond fuzz, and when it was all over he looked the same as before, but the laborious process gave Amaranta the feeling that she had begun to grow old at that moment."
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Gabriel Garcia Marquez
"This was when she asked him whether it was true that love conquered all, as the songs said. 'It is true', he replied, 'but you would do well not to believe it."
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Gabriel Garcia Marquez
"He walked out into a different city, one that was perfumed by the last dahlias of June, and onto a street out of his youth, where the shadowy widowsfrom five o'clock Mass were filing by. But now it was he, not they, who crossed the street, so they would not see the tears he could no longer hold back, not his midnight tears, as he thought, but other tears: the ones he had been swallowing for fifty-one years, nine months and four days."
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