One Hundred Years of Solitude

ended up forgetting about
him, absorbed in the
composition of his poems, but
on one occasion he thought
he understood something of
what Melquíades was saying
in his groping monologues,
and he paid attention. In
reality, the only thing that
could be isolated in the rocky
paragraphs was the insistent
hammering on the word
equinox, equinox, equinox,
and the name of Alexander