The Only Everyday And Eternal Reality Was

Santiago Nasar Had Often Told Me That The Smell Of Closed-in Flowers Had An Immediate Relation To Death For Him.

The More Transparent The Writing, The More Visible The Poetry.

He Governed As If He Felt Predestined To Never Die

It Is A Triumph Of Life That Old People Lose Their Memories Of Inessential Things.

He Is Ugly And Sad, But He Is All Love.