The secret of a good old age is simply an honorable pact1 with solitude。
The past was a lie, that memory has no return, that every spring gone by could never be recovered, and that the wildest and most tenacious3 love was an ephemeral truth in the end.
Many years later as he faced the firing squad4, Colonel Aureliano Buendía was to remember that distant afternoon when his father took him to discover ice。
We fought all those wars and all of it just so that we didn't have to paint our houses blue.
A person doesn't die when he should but when he can.
The anxiety of falling in love could not find repose5 except in bed.
One minute of reconciliation6 is worth more than a whole life of friendship.
For it was foreseen that the city of mirrors (or mirages) would be wiped out by the wind and exiled from the memory of men at the precise moment when Aureliano Babilonia would finish deciphering the parchments, and that everything written on them was unrepeatable since time immemorial and forever more, because races condemned7 to one hundred years of solitude did not have a second opportunity on earth.
It wasn't what I saw that stopped me, Max. It was what I didn't see. You understand that? What I didn't see. In all that sprawling city there was everything except an end.
We all die. The goal isn't to live forever, the goal is to create something that will.
We laughed and kept saying"see u soon",but inside we both knew we'd never see each other again.