Between The Covers Of The Books That

He Said That People Who Loved [animals] To Excess Were Capable Of The Worst Cruelties Toward Human Beings. He Said That Dogs Were Not Loyal But Servile, That Cats Were Opportunists And Traitors, That Peacocks Were Heralds Of Death, That Macaws Were Simply Decorative Annoyances, That Rabbits Fomented Greed, That Monkeys Carried The Fever Of Lust, And That Roosters Were Damned Because They Had Been Complicit In The Three Denials Of Christ.

When He Went Through The Kitchen He Kissed Rebeca On The Forehead. "get Those Bad Thoughts Out Of Your Head," He Told Her. "you're Going To Be Happy.

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.

A Man Knows When He Is Growing Old Because He Begins To Look Like His Father.

Blood Circulated Through Her Veins With The Fluidity Of A Song That Branched Off Into The Most Hidden Areas Of Her Body And Returned To Her Heart, Purified By Love.