One Hundred Years of Solitude

understood that it was
madness. Nevertheless, the
night on which they camped
beside the river, his fathers
host had the look of
shipwrecked people with no
escape, but their number had
grown during the crossing
and they were all prepared
(and they succeeded) to die of
old age. José Arcadio
Buendía dreamed that night
that right there a noisy city
with houses having mirror