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
One could be happy not only without love, but despite it.
To all, I would say how mistaken they are when they think that they stop falling in love when they grow old, without knowing that they grow old when they stop falling in love..." Gabriel Garcia Marquez.
Hate and love are reciprocal passions.
The people one loves should take all their things with them when they die.
She discovered 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.
Perhaps this is what the stories meant when they called somebody heartsick. Your heart and your stomach and your whole insides felt empty and hollow and aching.
Just because someone does not love you as you want, it does not mean that you do not love with all his being.
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.
Love becomes greater and nobler in calamity.
The anxiety of falling in love could not find repose except in bed.
And nevertheless, when they watched him leave the house, this man they themselves had urged to conquer the world, then they were the ones left with the terror that he would never return. That was their life. Love, if it existed, was something separate: another life.
For those who may be hurting over lost love: Don't cry because it is over... smile because it happened.
The only everyday and eternal reality was love.
Sex is one's consolation when love is not enough