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
Life in the world... was nothing more than a system of atavistic contracts, banal ceremonies, preordained words, with which people entertained each other in society in order not to commit murder. The dominant sign in that paradise of provincial frivolity was fear of the unknown.
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.
He was carrying a suitcase with clothing in order to stay and another just like it with almost two thousand letters that she had written him. They were arranged by date in bundles ties with colored ribbons, and they were all unopened.
Life is not what one lived, but what One remembers and how One remembers it in order to recount it
A person doesn't die when he should but when he can.
Fatality makes us invisible.
Thinking that it would console him, she took a piece of charcoal and erased the innumerable loves that he still owed her for, and she voluntarily brought up her own most solitary sadnesses so as not to leave him alone in his weeping.
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.
It is impossible to explain. But what I like most is to eat.
I don't have a method. All I do is read a lot, think a lot, and rewrite constantly. It's not a scientific thing.
Ah, me, if this is love, then how it torments.
One had to live a long time to know a man's true nature.
One could be happy not only without love, but despite it.
Life had already given him sufficient reasons for knowing that no defeat was the final one.