One Hundred Years of Solitude

imagine, with those very
words, and so that Renata, her
own daughter, who through
an oversight had seen her
stool in the bedroom, had
answered that even if the pot
was all gold and with a coat
of arms, what was inside was
pure shit, physical shit, and
worse even than any other
kind because it was stuck-up
highland shit, just imagine,
her own daughter, so that she
never had any illusions about