One Hundred Years of Solitude

hurrying, he took out the
chinaware and shattered it on
the floor. Systematically,
serenely, in the same
parsimonious way in which
he had papered the house
with banknotes, he then set
about smashing the Bohemian
crystal ware against the walls,
the hand-painted vases, the
pictures of maidens in flower-
laden boats, the mirrors in
their gilded frames,
everything that was