One Hundred Years of Solitude

desolation of glory and the
exile of disillusionment, that
remote dawn when he went to
her bedroom to give the first
command of his life: the
command to give him love. It
was Pilar Ternera. Years
before, when she had reached
one hundred forty-five years
of age, she had given up the
pernicious custom of keeping
track of her age and she went
on living in the static and
marginal time of memories,