One Hundred Heaps of Solitude

edited 2013-01-22 16:43:37 in General
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Comments

  • Touch the cow. Do it now.
    I bet this would be more meaningful if I had read One Hundred Years of Solitude.
  • A trickle of blood came out under the door, crossed the living room, went out into the street, continued on in a straight line across the uneven terraces, went down steps and climbed over curbs, passed along the Street of the Turks, turned a corner to the right and another to the left, made a right angle at the Buendía house, went in under the closed door, crossed through the parlor, hugging the walls so as not to stain the rugs, went on to the other living room, made a wide curve to avoid the dining-room table, went along the porch with the begonias, and passed without being seen under Amaranta's chair as she gave an arithmetic lesson to Aureliano José, and went through the pantry and came out in the kitchen, where Úrsula was getting ready to crack thirty-six eggs to make bread.

    "Holy Mother of God!" Úrsula shouted.
  • Touch the cow. Do it now.
    That trickle of blood was more ambitious than most.
  • "It is a matter of grave importance that Fairy tales should be respected.... Whosoever alters them to suit his own opinions, whatever they are, is guilty, to our thinking, of an act of presumption, and appropriates to himself what does not belong to him." -- Charles Dickens
    Magic realism laughs at your puny physics.
  • “I'm surprised. Those clothes… but, aren't you…?”
    Indeed.

    On a related note, Emily Carroll is great.
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