By virtue of marrying a man she does not love for money. That's the lowest kind of whore.
It is incredible how one can be happy for so many years in the midst of so many squabbles, so many problems, damn it, and not really know if it was love or not.
The problem in public life is learning to overcome terror; the problem in married life is learning to overcome boredom.
Although some men who were easy with their words said that it was worth sacrificing one's life for a night of love with such an arousing woman, the truth was that no one made any effort to do so. Perhaps, not only to attain her but also to conjure away her dangers, all that was needed was a feeling as primitive and as simple as that of love, but that was the only thing that did not occur to anyone.
In some way impossible to ascertain, after so many years of absense, Jose Arcadio was still an autumnal child, terribly sad and solitary.
The world was reduced to the surface of her skin and her inner self was safe from all bitterness.
Dr Urbino did not agree: in his opinion a Liberal president was exactly the same as a Conservative president, but not as well dressed.
It was a lone voice in the middle of the ocean, but it was heard at great depth and great distance.
She had the revelation one Sunday that while the other instruments played for everyone the violen played for her alone .
The weak would never entered th kingdom of love.
Amaranta would sigh, laugh, and dream of a second homeland of handsome men and beautiful women who spoke a childlike language, with ancient cities of whose past grandeur only the cats among the rubble remained.
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.
Then he made one last effort to search in his heart for the place where his affection had rotted away, and he could not find it.
For at the height of pleasure he had experienced a revelation that he could not believe, that he even refused to admit, which was that his illusory love for Fermina Daza could be replaced by an earthly passion.
It was a meditation on life, love, old age, death: ideas that had often fluttered around her head like nocturnal birds but dissolved into a trickle of feathers when she tried to catch hold of them.
She knew that he loved her above all else, more than anything in the world, but only for his own sake.
The world is divided into those who screw and those who do not. He distrusted those who did not-when they strayed form the straight and narrow it was something so unusual for them that they bragged about love as if they had just invented it.
An artisan without memories, whose only dream was to die of fatigue in the oblivion and misery of his little gold fishes.
In that way the long-awaited visit, for which both had prepared questions and had even anticipated answers, was once more the usual everyday conversation.
He did not dare to console her, knowing that it would have been like consoling a tiger run thru by a spear.
It was the year they fell into devastating love. Neither one could do anything except think about the other, dream about the other, and wait for letters with the same impatience they felt when they answered them.
She knew that it would not be easy to submit to his miserliness, or the foolishness of his premature appearance of age, or his maniacal sense of order, or his eagerness to as for everything and give nothing at all in return, but despite all this, no man was better company because no other man in the world was so in need of love.
Then he knew that they had rounded the cape of good hope, and he took her large, soft hand again and covered it with forlorn little kisses, first the hard metacarpus, the long, discerning fingers, the diaphanous nails, and then the hieroglyphics of her destiny on her perspiring palm.
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.
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.
They kept a clean and neat house. Rebeca would open it wide at dawn and the wind from the graveyard would come in through the windows and go out through the doors to the yard and leave the whitewashed walls and furniture tanned by the saltpeter of the dead.
He found a glimmer of hope in the ruins of disaster
More Gabriel Garcia Marquez Quotations (Based on Topics)
Love - World - Solitude - Man - Death & Dying - Memory - Sadness - Happiness - Hope - Dreams - Life - Cities - Faces - Marriage - Truth - Past - Age - Night - Fear - View All Gabriel Garcia Marquez Quotations
More Gabriel Garcia Marquez Quotations (By Book Titles)
- Love in the Time of Cholera
- One Hundred Years of Solitude
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