One Hundred Years of Solitude

his mad youth left him
unmoved, just as during his
last debauch he had
exhausted his quota of
salaciousness and all he had
left was the marvelous gift of
being able to remember it
without bitterness or
repentance. It might have
been thought that the deluge
had given him the
opportunity to sit and reflect
and that the business of the
pliers and the oilcan had