Gabriel García Márquez Quotes

A person does not belong to a place until there is someone dead under the ground.

No matter what you do this year or in the next hundred, you will be dead forever.

[O]ne can be in love with several people at the same time, feel the same sorrow with each, and not betray any of them.

Disbelief is more resistant than faith because it is sustained by the senses.

The fact is that being seductive is an addiction that can never be satisfied.

and it was always
without pretensions of loving or being loved although always in the hope of
finding something that resembled love but without the problems of love.

Tell him yes. Even if you are dying of fear, even if you are sorry later, because whatever you do, you will be sorry all the rest of your life if you say no.

لقد قال لها في أحد الأيام شيئا لم تستطع تصوره:إن المبتورين يحسون آلاما وخدرا ودغدغة في أرجلهم التي ماعادوا يمتلكونها. وهذا ماشعرت به هي من دونه.. كانت تشعر بوجوده حيث لم يعد له وجود.

No one described him better than he did when someone accused him of being rich.
“No, not rich,” he said. “I am a poor man with money, which is not the same thing.

La peor forma de extrañar a alguien es estar sentado a su lado y saber que nunca lo podrás tener.

El secreto de una buena vejez no es mas que un pacto honrado con la soledad.

Le rogó a Dios que le concediera al menos un instante para que él no se fuera sin saber cuánto lo había querido por encima de las dudas de ambos, y sintió un apremio irresistible de empezar la vida con él otra vez desde el principio para decirse todo lo que se les quedó sin decir, y volver a hacer bien cualquier cosa que hubieran hecho mal en el pasado. Pero tuvo que rendirse ante la intransigencia de la muerte.

Children inherit their parents' madness.

On rainy afternoons, embroidering with a group of friends on the begonia porch, she would lose the thread of the conversation and a tear of nostalgia would salt her palate when she saw the strips of damp earth and the piles of mud that the earthworms had pushed up in the garden. Those secret tastes, defeated in the past by oranges and rhubarb, broke out into an irrepressible urge when she began to weep. She went back to eating earth. The first time she did it almost out of curiosity, sure that the bad taste would be the best cure for the temptation. And, in fact, she could not bear the earth in her mouth. But she persevered, overcome by the growing anxiety, and little by little she was getting back her ancestral appetite, the taste of primary minerals, the unbridled satisfaction of what was the original food. She would put handfuls of earth in her pockets, and ate them in small bits without being seen, with a confused feeling of pleasure and rage, as she instructed her girl friends in the most difficult needlepoint and spoke about other men, who did not deserve the sacrifice of having one eat the whitewash on the walls because of them. The handfuls of earth made the only man who deserved that show of degradation less remote and more certain, as if the ground that he walked on with his fine patent leather boots in another part of the world were transmitting to her the weight and the temperature of his blood in a mineral savor that left a harsh aftertaste in her mouth and a sediment of peace in her heart.

Nothing resembles a person as much as the way he dies.