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The Red Lion was a four-ale bar with a handful of lowbrowed sons of toil who looked as though they might be related to one another in ways frowned on by the Old Testament.

The world advances. Yes, I said, progress, but circling around the sun.

Remember that everything that is good, whatever it's origin, comes from the holy spirit.

Florentino Ariza wrote everything with so much passion that even official documents seem to be about love. His bills of lading were rhymed no matter how he tried to avoid it, and routine business...

They were two happy lovers among the crowd, and they came to suspect that love could be a feeling that was more relaxing and deep than the happiness, wild but momentary, of their secret nights.

I told your daughter that she is like a rose. True enough, said Lorenzo Daza but one with too many thorns.

The audacious telegraph operator took the flower from his buttonhole and said to her: I give you my life in this rose.

One never quite stops believing,' said the Marquis. 'Some doubt remains forever.' Abrenuncio understood. He had always thought that ceasing to believe caused a permanent scar in the place where one's...

It was simply a way of giving herself some relief, because actually they were joined till death by a bond that was more solid than love: a common prick of conscience.

But power - like love - is double-edged: it is exercised and it is suffered.

We are the orphans of our son.

Then she told him to look in the bedroom and Aureliano Segundo saw the mule. Its skin was clinging to its bones like that of its mistress, but it was just as alive and resolute as she. Petra Cotes had...

Science has eliminated distance.

I had always thought that dying of love was nothing more than poetic license. That afternoon, returning home, again, without the cat and without her, I realized that not only was it possible, but that...

Give me a bias and I will move the world.

There's no greater misfortune than dying alone.

Because solitude had made a selection in her memory and had burned the dimming piles of nostalgic waste that life had accumulated in her heart, and had purified, magnified, and eternalized the others,...

The Bishop blessed him and helped him to his feet."May God have mercy on you," he said. And erased him from his heart.

There was always someone outside of the chalk circle. Someone who needed money, someone who had a son with whooping cough, or someone who wanted to go off and sleep forever because he could not stand...

I returned home tormented by the little demon who whispers into our ear the devastating replies we didn't give at the right time

In fact, the past is not history, but a much vaster region of the dead, gone, unknowable, or forgotten. History is what we choose to remember, and we have no alternative but to do our choosing now.

The only thing that hurts me about dying is that it's not about love.

He finished shaving by touch, still walking around the room, for he tried to see himself in the mirror as little as possible so he would not have to look into his own eyes.

From that time on the parish priest began to show signs of senility that would lead him to say years later that the devil had probably won his rebellion against God, and that he was the one who sat on...

Keep in mind that when we talk of a great painting we are not really talking about anything great. We are talking of only a painting.

Memories have ways of becoming independent of the reality they evoke. They can soften us against those we were deeply hurt by or they can make us resent those we once accepted and loved...

She seemed to him so beautiful, so seductive, so different from common people that he did not understand why no one was as moved as he was by the castanet song of her heels on the cobblestones of the...

When I stand and contemplate my fate and see the path along which you have led me, I reach my end, for artless I surrendered to one who is my undoing and my end.

What could you do? Major Major asked himself again. What could you do with a man who looked you squarely in the eye and said he would rather die than be killed in combat

Reality has become so intolerable, she said, so bleak, that all I can paint now are the colors of my dreams.

You get a strange feeling when you're about to leave a place, I told him, like you'll not only miss the people you love but you'll miss the person you are now at this time and this place, because...

We men are the miserable slaves of prejudice

the full fury of his storming countenance with its rugged overhang of gullied forehead and huge crag of a humpbacked nose that came charging out of his face wrathfully like a Big Ten fullback.