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Quote by Lyla Sage

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Wild and Wrangled

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Lyla Sage

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“an old man with no destiny with our never knowing who he was, or what he was like, or even if he was only a figment of the imagination, a comic tyrant who never knew where the reverse side was and where the right of this life which we loved with an insatiable passion that you never dared even to imagine out of the fear of knowing what we knew only too well that it was arduous and ephemeral but there wasn't any other, general, because we knew who we were while he was left never knowing it forever with the soft whistle of his rupture of a dead old man cut off at the roots by the slash of death, flying through the dark sound of the last frozen leaves of his autumn toward the homeland of shadows of the truth of oblivion, clinging to his fear of the rotting cloth of death's hooded cassock and alien to the clamor of the frantic crowds who took to the streets singing hymns of joy at the jubilant news of his death and alien forevermore to the music of liberation and the rockets of jubilation and the bells of glory that announced to the world the good news that the uncountable time of eternity had come to an end.”

Gabriel García Márquez
Book:The Autumn of the Patriarch
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“Aturdido por dos nostalgias enfrentadas como dos espejos, perdió su maravilloso sentido de la irrealidad, hasta que terminó por recomendarles a todos que se fueran de Macondo, que olvidaran cuanto él les había enseñado del mundo y del corazón humano, que se cagaran en Horacio y que en cualquier lugar en que estuvieran recordaran siempre que el pasado era mentira, que la memoria no tenía caminos de regreso, que toda primavera antigua era irrecuperable, y que el amor más desatinado y tenaz era de todos modos una verdad efímera.”

One Hundred Years Of SolitudeGabriel García MárquezCien Años De Soledad
Book:One Hundred Years of Solitude
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“Obojica su istodobno spoznala da je tamo unutra uvijek ožujak i stalno ponedjeljak, shvativši da José Arcadio Buendía nije bio tako lud kako je obitelj mislila, već, štoviše, jedini dovoljno oštrouman da nasluti istinu o vremenu; i ono je bilo podložno greškama i kojekakvim nezgodama, tako da se moglo skrhati i u nekoj sobi zaboraviti jedan okršak za vječnost.”

Gabriel García MárquezSto Godina Samoće
Book:One Hundred Years of Solitude
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