One Hundred Years of Solitude

remote afternoon when his
father had taken him to see
ice, had taken place in his
silver workshop where he
passed the time putting little
gold fishes together. He had
had to start thirty-two wars
and had had to violate all of
his pacts with death and
wallow like a hog in the
dungheap of glory in order to
discover the privileges of
simplicity almost forty years
late.