She Sensed It, Saw My Eyes Wet

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

Morality, Too, Is A Question Of Time.

In The Beginning, When The World Was New And Nothing Had A Name, My Father Took Me To See The Ice.

Most Critics Don't Realize That A Novel Like One Hundred Years Of Solitude Is A Bit Of A Joke, Full Of Signals To Close Friends; And So, With Some Pre-ordained Right To Pontificate They Take On The Responsibility Of Decoding The Book And Risk Making Terrible Fools Of Themselves.

Nothing One Does In Bed Is Immoral If It Helps To Perpetuate Love.