No, Not Rich. I Am A Poor

He Thought That The World Would Make More Rapid Progress Without The Burden Of Old People.

Nothing Resembles A Person As Much As The Way He Dies.

In The End All Books Are Written For Your Friends. The Problem After Writing One Hundred Years Of Solitude Was That Now I No Longer Know Whom Of The Millions Of Readers I Am Writing For; This Upsets And Inhibits Me. It's Like A Million Eyes Are Looking At You And You Don't Really Know What They Think.

And Both Of Them Remained Floating In An Empty Universe Where The Only Everyday & Eternal Reality Was Love.

From The Moment I Wrote 'leaf Storm' I Realized I Wanted To Be A Writer And That Nobody Could Stop Me And That The Only Thing Left For Me To Do Was To Try To Be The Best Writer In The World.