Gabriel Garcia Marquez
Gabriel Garcia Marquez
Gabriel José de la Concordia García Márquez; 6 March 1927 – 17 April 2014) was a Colombian novelist, short-story writer, screenwriter and journalist, known affectionately as Gabo or Gabito throughout Latin America. Considered one of the most significant authors of the 20th century and one of the best in the Spanish language, he was awarded the 1972 Neustadt International Prize for Literature and the 1982 Nobel Prize in Literature. He pursued a self-directed education that resulted in his leaving law...
NationalityColombian
ProfessionNovelist
Date of Birth6 March 1927
CountryColombia
Sex is one's consolation when love is not enough
In the beginning, when the world was new and nothing had a name, my father took me to see the ice.
A falcon who chases a warlike crane can only hope for a life of pain.
It is not that the girl is unfit for everything, it is that she is not of this world.
It was the time when they loved each other best, without hurry or excess, when both were most conscious of and grateful for their incredible victories over adversity.
Invulnerable to time, dedicated to the messianic happiness of thinking for us, knowing that we knew that he would not take any decision for us that did not have our measure, for he had not survived everything because of his inconceivable courage or his infinite prudence but because he was the only one among us who knew the real size of our destiny.
Unfortunately many young writers are more concerned with fame than with their own work... It's much more important to write than to be written about.
The more transparent the writing, the more visible the poetry.
Nobody is worth crying for, and those that are worth it will not make you cry.
Necessity has the face of a dog.
Fame invades your private life. It takes away from the time that you spend with friends, and the time that you can work. It tends to isolate you from the real world.
When one reaches absolute power, one loses total contact with reality.
If you love something - let. If it is yours - it will come back. I love you not because of who you are, but for who I am when I'm with you.
It was, at last, real life, with my heart safe and condemned to die of happy love in the joyful agony of any day after my hundredth birthday.