One Hundred Years of Solitude

معرفی و دانلود نسخه انگلیسی کتاب صد سال تنهایی

نویسنده:

Gabriel García Márquez

گابریل گارسیا مارکز

مترجم از اسپانیایی به انگلیسی:

Gregory Rabassa

درباره کتاب صد سال تنهایی از گابریل گارسیا مارکز :

گابریل گارسیا مارکز در رمان صد سال تنهایی به شرح زندگی هفت نسل از خانواده بوئندیا پرداخته است که در دهکده ای به نام ماکوندو  ساکن شده اند.

خلاصه کتاب صد سال تنهایی نوشته گابریل مارگز:

صد سال تنهایی داستانی است درباره‌ی هفت نسل از خانواده‌ی بوئندیا. خوزه آرکادیو بوئندیا روزی از محل زندگی خود کوچ می‌کند و این دهکده را برای سکونت انتخاب می‌کند و همراه با اطرافیانش کم کم شروع می‌کنند به پایه‌ریزی این دهکده.

ما چرا خوزه آرکادیو بوئندیا محل زندگیش را ترک کرد؟ او در یک درگیری پرودنکیو آگیولار را کشت و قرار بود به خاطر این کار عقیم شود. برای همین محل زندگیش را ترک کرد. یک شب رویای «ماکوندو» را دید. شهری از آینه‌ها که جهان را در خود منعکس می‌کند و نشان می‌دهد. به محض اینکه بیدار شد، تصمیم گرفت ماکوندو را در کناره‌ی رود پایه‌ریزی کند. ماکوندو یکی از نمونه‌های ساختن اتوپیا در ادبیات داستانی است. خوزه آرکادیو اعتقاد داشته ماکوندو باید دور تا دور با آب محصور شود. برای همین ماکوندو تبدیل به جزیره‌ای می‌شود که با جهان بیرون تا سال‌ها هیچ ارتباط و پیوندی ندارد. البته به جز سالی یکبار حضور گروه کولی‌ها در جزیره.

جنگ و درگیری‌های داخلی، ورود بیگانگان، عشق، نفرت، حسادت، مرگ، ازدواج و تولد اساس همه‌ی اتفاق‌هایی است که در این کتاب و برای نسل‌های مختلف خانواده بوئندیا رخ می‌دهد.

در بخش هایی از رمان صد سال تنهایی می‌خوانید:

او به تلخى پاسخ داد: «حالا که کسى حاضر نیست با ما بیاید، ما خودمان از اینجا خواهیم رفت.» اورسولا با خونسردى تمام گفت: «ما از اینجا نخواهیم رفت، ما همین جا مى‌مانیم، زیرا ما در اینجا فرزندانمان را به دنیا آورده‌ایم.» خوزه آرکادیو بوئندیا پاسخ داد: «اما هنوز کسى در اینجا نمرده است. وقتى کسى مرده‌اى در جایى ندارد، به آنجا تعلق ندارد.»

اورسولا با لحنى آرام و مصمم گفت: «اگر لازم باشد که من بمیرم تا بقیه در اینجا بمانند، خواهم مرد.»

خوزه آرکادیو بوئندیا که تاکنون چنین عزم و اراده‌اى را در همسرش ندیده بود، سعى کرد تا با وعده‌هاى خیالى خود، راجع به دنیایى شگفت‌انگیز که در آنجا کافى بود چند قطره از یک ماده جادویى را بر زمین بریزى تا درختان میوه بدهند و در آنجا انواع داروهاى مسکن را با بهایى اندک مى‌فروشند، او را فریب دهد. ولى این چرندیات در اورسولا اثرى نداشتند. او مى‌گفت: «بهتر است به جاى اینکه مدام به فکر کشفیات تازه و عجیب باشى، کمى هم به پسرانت فکر کنى. نگاهشان کن، درست مثل دو تا یابو همین اطراف ول هستند.»

آئورلیانو یازده صفحه ی دیگر را هم رد کرد تا وقتش را با وقایعی که با آنها آشنا بود تلف نکند و به پی بردن رمزگشایی لحظه ای که در آن به سر می برد مشغول شد و همچنان به آن رمزگشایی ادامه داد تا اینکه خودش را در هنگام رمزگشایی آخرین صفحه ی آن نوشته دید؛ انگار که خودش را در آیینه ای ناطق ببیند. در این موقع همچنان ادامه داد تا از پیش بینی و یقین تاریخ و نوع مرگش آگاه شود؛ اما دیگر نیازی نبود که به خط آخرش برسد؛ زیرا فهمید که دیگر هرگز از آن اتاق بیرون نخواهد رفت؛ چون پیش بینی شده بود که شهر ماکوندو درست در همان لحظه ای که آئورلیانو بابیلونیا رمزگشایی نوشته ها را به به پایان می رساند، با آن توفان نوح از روی کره ی زمین و از یاد نسل آدم محو میشود و هرچه در آن نوشته آمده، دیگر از ابتدا تا همیشه تکرار نخواهد شد؛ چون نسل های محکوم به صد سال تنهایی بر روی زمین فرصت زندگی دوباره ای را نخواهند داشت.

وقتی که نجار برای ساختن تابوت قدش را اندازه می گرفت از میان پنجره متوجه شدند که از آسمان گل های کوچک زردرنگی فرو می بارد. باران گل تمام شب به صورت طوفانی آرام بر سر شهر بارید. بام خانه ها را پوشاند و جلوی درها را مسدود کرد. جانورانی که در هوای آزاد می خوابیدند در گل غرق شدند. آن قدر از آسمان گل فرو ریخت که وقتی صبح شد تمام خیابان ها مفروش از گل بود و مجبور شدند با پارو و شن کش گل ها را عقب بزنند تا مراسم تشییع جنازه در خیابان برگزار شود.

جملاتی زیبا از رمان صد سال تنهایی:

“There is always something left to love.”
― Gabriel García Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

“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. Petra Cotes, for her part, loved him more and more as she felt his love increasing, and that was how in the ripeness of autumn she began to believe once more in the youthful superstition that poverty was the servitude of love. Both looked back then on the wild revelry, the gaudy wealth, and the unbridled fornication as an annoyance and they lamented that it had cost them so much of their lives to find the paradise of shared solitude. Madly in love after so many years of sterile complicity, they enjoyed the miracle of living each other as much at the table as in bed, and they grew to be so happy that even when they were two worn-out people they kept on blooming like little children and playing together like dogs.”
― Gabriel García Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

“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.”
― Gabriel Garcia Marquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

“…time was not passing…it was turning in a circle…”
― Gabriel García Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

“They were so close to each other that they preferred death to separation.”
― Gabriel García Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

“He really had been through death, but he had returned because he could not bear the solitude.”
― Gabriel García Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

“Wherever they might be they always remember that the past was a lie, that memory has no return, that every spring gone by could never be recovered, and that the wildest and most tenacious love was an ephemeral truth in the end.”
― Gabriel García Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

“Many years later, as he faced the firing squad, Colonel Aureliano Buendía was to remember that distant afternoon when his father took him to discover ice…”
― Gabriel García Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

“and both of them remained floating in an empty universe where the only everyday & eternal reality was love…”
― Gabriel García Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

“What does he say?’ he asked.
‘He’s very sad,’ Úrsula answered, ‘because he thinks that you’re going to die.’
‘Tell him,’ the colonel said, smiling, ‘that a person doesn’t die when he should but when he can.”
― Gabriel García Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

“Before reaching the final line, however, he had already understood that he would never leave that room, for it was foreseen that the city of mirrors (or mirages) would be wiped out by the wind and exiled from the memory of men at the precise moment
when Aureliano Babilonia would finish deciphering the parchments, and that everything written on them was unrepeatable since time immemorial and forever more, because races condemned to one hundred years of solitude did not have a second opportunity on earth.”
― Gabriel García Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

“Cease, cows, life is short.”
― Gabriel Garcia Marquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

“Gaston was not only a fierce lover, with endless wisdom and imagination, but he was also, perhaps, the first man in the history of the species who had made an emergency landing and had come close to killing himself and his sweetheart simply to make love in a field of violets.”
― Gabriel Garcia Marquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

“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.”
― Gabriel García Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

“Lost in the solitude of his immense power, he began to lose direction.”
― Gabriel García Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

“Things have a life of their own,” the gypsy proclaimed with a harsh accent. “It’s simply a matter of waking up their souls.”
― Gabriel García Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

“Death really did not matter to him but life did, and therefore the sensation he felt when they gave their decision was not a feeling of fear but of nostalgia.”
― Gabriel García Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

“Thus they went on living in a reality that was slipping away, momentarily captured by words, but which would escape irremediably when they forgot the values of the written letters.”
― Gabriel García Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

“One minute of reconciliation is worth more than a whole life of friendship!”
― Gabriel Garcí­a Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

“He sank into the rocking chair, the same one in which Rebecca had sat during the early days of the house to give embroidery lessons, and in which Amaranta had played Chinese checkers with Colonel Gerineldo Marquez, and in which Amarana Ursula had sewn the tiny clothing for the child, and in that flash of lucidity he became aware that he was unable to bear in his soul the crushing weight of so much past.”
― Gabriel García Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

“The secret of a good old age is simply an honorable pact with solitude.”
― Gabriel García Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

“He soon acquired the forlorn look that one sees in vegetarians.”
― Gabriel García Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

“The world was reduced to the surface of her skin and her inner self was safe from all bitterness.”
― Gabriel García Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

“He pleaded so much that he lost his voice. His bones began to fill with words.”
― Gabriel García Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

““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.”
― Gabriel García Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

“A trickle of blood came out under the door, crossed the living room, went out into the street, continued on in a straight line across the uneven terraces, went down steps and climbed over curbs, passed along the Street of the Turks, turned a corner to the right and another to the left, made a right angle at the Buendía house, went in under the closed door, crossed through the parlor, hugging the walls so as not to stain the rugs, went on to the other living room, made a wide curve to avoid the dining-room table, went along the porch with the begonias, and passed without being seen under Amaranta’s chair as she gave an arithmetic lesson to Aureliano José, and went through the pantry and came out in the kitchen, where Úrsula was getting ready to crack thirty-six eggs to make bread.

“Holy Mother of God!” Úrsula shouted.”

“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.”

“Tell me something, old friend: why are you fighting?”
What other reason could there be?” Colonel Gerineldo Marquez answered. “For the great Liberal party.”
You’re lucky because you know why,” he answered. “As far as I’m concerned, I’ve come to realize only just now that I’m fighting because of pride.”
That’s bad,” Colonel Gerineldo Marquez said.
Colonel Aureliano Buendia was amused at his alarm. “Naturally,” he said. “But in any case, it’s better than not knowing why you’re fighting.” He looked him in the eyes and added with a smile:
Or fighting, like you, for something that doesn’t have any meaning for anyone.”

“A person does not belong to a place until there is someone dead under the ground.”
― Gabriel Garcí­a Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

“She had that rare virtue of never existing completely except for that opportune moment”

“For a week, almost without speaking,
they went ahead like sleepwalkers through a universe of grief, lighted only by the tenuous
reflection of luminous insects, and their lungs were overwhelmed by a suffocating smell of blood.”
― Gabriel García Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

“because races condemned to one hundred years of solitude did not have a second opportunity on earth”
― Gabriel García Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

“The first of the
line is tied to a tree and the last is being eaten by the ants .”

“The rain would not have bothered Fernanda, after all, her whole life had been spent as if it were raining.”
― Gabriel García Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

“Tell him,’ the colonel said, smiling, ‘that a person doesn’t die when he should but when he can.”
― Gabriel García Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

“It was the last that remained of a past whose annihilation had not taken place because it was still in a process of annihilation, consuming itself from within, ending at every moment but never ending its ending.”

“In all the houses keys to memorizing objects and feelings had been written. But the system demanded so much vigilance and moral strength that many succumbed to the spell of an imaginary reality, one invented by themselves, which was less practical for them but more comforting.”
― Gabriel García Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

“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.”

“The woman let out an expansive laugh that resounded through the house like a spray of broken glass.”
― Gabriel García Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

“An artisan without memories, whose only dream was to die of fatigue in the oblivion and misery of his little gold fishes.”
― Gabriel García Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

“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.”

“He had not stopped desiring her for a single instant. He found her in the dark bedrooms of captured towns, especially in the most abject ones, and he would make her materialize in the smell of dry blood on the bandages of the wounded, in the instantaneous terror of the danger of death, at all times and in all places. He had fled from her in an attempt to wipe out her memory, not only through distance but by means of a muddled fury that his companions at arms took to be boldness, but the more her image wallowed in the dunghill of the war, the more the war resembled Amaranta. That was how he suffered in exile, looking for a way of killing her with his own death…”
― Gabriel García Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

“He spent six hours examining things, trying to find a difference from their appearance on the previous day in the hope of discovering in them some change that would reveal the passage of time.”

“She let him finish, scratching his head with the tips of her fingers, and without his having revealed that he was weeping from love, she recognized immediately the oldest sobs in the history of man.”
― Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Cem Anos de Solidão

“Fernanda, on the other hand, looked for it in vain along the paths of her everyday itinerary without knowing that the search for lost things is hindered by routine habits and that is why it is so difficult to find them.”
― Gabriel García Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

“Bad luck doesn’t have any chinks in it,” he said with deep bitterness. “I was born a son of a bitch and I’m going to die a son of a bitch.”

“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.”
― Gabriel García Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

“The world must be all fucked up,” he said then, “when men travel first class and literature goes as freight.”

“Then, for more than ten days, they did not see the sun again. The ground became soft and damp, like volcanic ash, and the vegetation was thicker and thicker, and the cries of the birds and the uproar of the monkeys became more and more remote, and the world became eternally sad. The men on the expedition felt overwhelmed by their most ancient memories in that paradise of dampness and silence, going back to before original sin, as their boots sank into pools of steaming oil and their machetes destroyed bloody lilies and golden salamanders.”
― Gabriel García Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

“Little by little, studying the infinite possibilities of a loss of memory, he realized that the day might come when things would be recognized by their inscriptions but that no one would remember their use…. At the beginning of the road into the swamp they put up a sign that said “Macondo” and another larger one on the main street that said “God exists”.”

“More than mother and son, they were accomplices in solitude.”
― Gabriel García Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

“Around the time they were preparing Jose Arcadio for the seminary she had already made a detailed recapitulation of life in the house since the founding of Macondo and had completely changed the opinion that she had always had of its descendants. She realized that Colonel Aureliano Buendia had not lost his love for the family because he had been hardened by the war, as she had thought before, but that he had never loved anyone… Amaranta, however, whose hardness of heart frightened her, whose concentrated bitterness made her bitter, suddenly became clear to her in the final analysis as the most tender woman who had ever existed, and she understood with pitying clarity that the unjust tortures to which she had submitted Pietro Crespi had not been dictated by a desire for vengeance, as everyone had thought, nor had the slow martyrdom with which she had frustrated the life of Colonel Gerineldo Marquez been determined by the gall of her bitterness, as everyone had thought, but that both actions had been a mortal struggle between a measureless love and an invincible cowardice, and that the irrational fear that Amaranta had always had of her own tormented heart had triumphed in the end. It was during that time that Ursula began to speak Rebeca’s name, bringing back the memory of her with an old love that was exalted by tardy repentance and a sudden admiration, coming to understand that only she, Rebeca , the one who had never fed of her milk but only of the earth of the land and the whiteness of the walls… Rebeca, the one with an impatient heart, the one with a fierce womb, was the only one who had the unbridled courage that Ursula had wanted for her line.”

“Children inherit their parents’ madness.”
― Gabriel Garcí­a Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

“but he only found her in the image that saturated his private and terrible solitude.”
― Gabriel García Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

“Amaranta, however, whose hardness of heart frightened her, whose concentrated bitterness made her bitter, suddenly became clear to her in the final analysis as the most tender woman who had ever existed, and she understood with pitying clarity that the unjust tortures to which she had submitted Pietro Crespi had not been dictated by a desire for vengeance, as everyone had thought, nor had the slow martyrdom with which she had frustrated the life of Colonel Gerineldo Márquez been determined by the gall of her bitterness, as everyone had thought, but that both actions had been a mortal struggle between a measureless love and an invincible cowardice, and that the irrational fear that Amaranta had always had of her own tormented heart had triumphed in the end.”

“Aureliano not only understood by then, he also lived
his brother’s experiences as something of his own, for on one occasion when the latter was
explaining in great detail the mechanism of love, he interrupted him to ask: “What does it feel
like?” José Arcadio gave an immediate reply:

“It’s like an earthquake.”

“I plead youth as a mitigating circumstance.”
― Gabriel García Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

“And normality was precisely the most fearful part of that infinite war: nothing ever happened.”
― Gabriel Garcí­a Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

“It had never occurred to him until then to think that literature was the best plaything that had ever been invented to make fun of people…”

“Science has eliminated distance,” Melquíades proclaimed. “In a short time, man will be able to see what is happening in any place in the world without leaving his own house.”
― Gabriel Garcí­a Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

“In the beginning, when the world was new and nothing had a name, my father took me to see the ice.”
― Gabriel García Márquez, Hundert Jahre Einsamkeit

“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.”

“The world must be all fucked up,’ he said then, ‘when men travel first class and literature goes as freight.’ That was the last thing he was heard to say.”
― Gabriel Garcí­a Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

“A short time later, when the carpenter was taking measurements for the coffin, through the window they saw a light rain of tiny yellow flowers falling. They fell on the town all through the night in a silent storm, and they covered the roofs and blocked the doors and smothered the animals who slept outdoors. So many flowers fell from the sky that in the morning the streets were carpeted with a compact cushion and they had to clear them away with shovels and rakes so that the funeral procession could pass by.”

“… that the past is one lie, and the memory has no returning, becouse every old spring is beyond retrieve, and even the craziest and most persistent love is just a temporary truth…”
― Gabriel Garcí­a Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

“Nevertheless, no matter how much they killed themselves with work, no matter how much money they eked out, and no matter how many schemes they thought of, their guardian angels were asleep with fatigue while they put in coins and took them out trying to get just
enough to live with.”

“She asked God, without fear, if he really believed that people were made of iron in order to bear so many troubles and mortifications; and asking over and over she was stirring up her own confusion and she felt irrepressible desires to let herself go and scamper about like a foreigner and allow herself at last an instant of rebellion, that instant yearned for so many times and so many times postponed, putting her resignation aside and shitting on everything once and for all and drawing out of her heart the infinite stacks of bad words that she had been forced to swallow over a century of conformity.”

“When he went through the kitchen he kissed Rebeca on the forehead.
“Get those bad thoughts out of your head,” he told her. “You’re going to be happy.”
― Gabriel Garcí­a Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

“From being used so much, kneaded with sweat and sighs, the air in the room had begun to turn to mud.”
― Gabriel García Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

“But what worries me is not your shooting me, because after all, for people like us it’s a natural death.” He laid his glasses on the bed and took off his watch and chain. “What worries me,” he went on, “is that out of so much hatred for the military, out of fighting them so much and thinking about them so much, you’ve ended up as bad as they are. And no ideal in life is worth that much baseness.”

“They could hear Ursula fighting against the laws of creation to maintain the line, and Jose Arcadio Buendia searching for the mythical truth of the great inventions, and Fernanda praying, and Colonel Aureliano Buendia stupefying himself with the deception of war and the little gold fishes, and Aureliano Segundo dying of solitude in the turmoil of his debauches, and then they learned that dominant obsessions can prevail against death and they were happy again with the certainty that they would go on loving each other in their shape as apparitions long after other species of future animals would steal from the insects the paradise of misery that the insects were finally stealing from man.”
― Gabriel Garcí­a Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

“A great commotion immobilized her in her center of gravity, planted her in her place, and her defensive will was demolished by the irresistible anxiety to discover what the orange bells and whistles and the invisible globes on the other side of death were like.”

“In some way impossible to ascertain, after so many years of absense, Jose Arcadio was still an autumnal child, terribly sad and solitary.”
― Gabriel García Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

“After searching for it uselessly in the taste of the earth, in the perfumed letters from Pietro Crespi, in the tempestuous bed of her husband, she had found peace in that house where memories materialized through the strength of implacable evocation and walked like human beings through the cloistered rooms.”

“The startling thing about her simplifying instinct was that the more she did away with fashion in search for comfort and the more she passed over conventions as she obeyed spontaneity, the more disturbing her incredible beauty became and the more provocative she become to men.”
― Gabriel García Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

“At that time Macondo was a village of twenty adobe houses, built on the bank of a river of clear water that ran along a bed of polished stones, which were white and enormous, like prehistoric eggs. The world was so recent that many things lacked names, and in order to indicate them it was necessary to point…”

“Arcadio found the formality of death rediculous. Death really did not matter to him but life did, and therefore the sensation he felt when they gave their decision was not a feeling of fear but of nostalgia.”
― Gabriel Garcia Marquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

“a process of aging had taken place in him that was so rapid and critical that soon he was being treated as one of those useless great-grandfathers who wander about the bedroom like shades, dragging their feet, remembering better times aloud, and whom no one bother about or remembers really until the morning they find them dead in their bed.”
― Gabriel García Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

“Many years later, as he faced the firing squad, Colonel Aureliano Buendia was to remember that distant afternoon when his father took him to discover ice. At that time, Macondo was a village of twenty adobe houses, built on the bank of a river of clear water that ran along a bed of polished stones, which were white and enormous, like prehistoric eggs. The world was so recent that many things lacked names, and in order to indicate them it was necessary to point.”

“Men demand much more than you think,” she would tell her enigmatically. “There’s a lot of cooking, a lot of sweeping, a lot of suffering over little things beyond what you think.”
― Gabriel Garcí­a Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

“Madly in love after so many years of sterile complicity, they enjoyed the miracle of loving each other as much at the table as in bed, and they grew to be so happy that even when they were two worn-out old people, they kept on blooming like little children and playing like dogs.”
― Gabriel Garcí­a Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

“Well,” Aureliano said. “Tell me what it is.”
Pilar Ternera bit her lips with a sad smile.
“That you would be good in a war,” she said. “Where you put your eye, you put your bullet.”

“We’ll turn to ashes in this house without men, but. we won’t give this miserable town the pleasure of seeing us weep”
― Gabriel Garcí­a Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

“Human beings are not born once and for all on the day their mother gives birth to them, but that life obliges them over and over again to give birth to themselves.”
― Gabriel Garcí­a Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

“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. Petra Cotes, for her part, loved him more and more as she felt his love increasing”

“If they believe it in the Bible, I don’t see why they shouldn’t believe it from me.”
― Gabriel Garcí­a Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

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