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Love and Other Demons, Gabriel García Márquez

I think I associate colors with authors. For example, Kundera is a brassy cobalt blue. Cather is a golden green sunshine. Marquez, for me, will always be a glittering brazen, golden fog of fireflies.

«No hay medicina que cure lo que no cura la felicidad».

No medicine cures what happiness cannot.

Can any quotation be more fitting to explain the placebo effect?

«Ahora sí, cuéntame el sueño».
Era muy simple. Delaura había soñado que Sierva María estaba sentada
frente a la ventana de un campo nevado, arrancando y comiéndose una
por una las uvas de un racimo que tenía en el regazo.
Cada uva que arrancaba retoñaba en seguida en el racimo. En el sueño era
evidente que la niña llevaba muchos años frente a aquella ventana infinita
tratando de terminar el racimo, y que no tenía prisa, porque sabía que en la
última uva estaba la muerte.

“And now, tell me the dream.”
It was very simple. Delaura had dreamed that Sierva Maria had sat at a window overlooking a snow-covered field, eating grapes one by one from a cluster she held in her lap. Each grape she pulled off grew back again on the cluster. In the dream it was evident the girl had spent many years at that infinite window trying to finish the cluster, and was in no hurry to do so because she knew that in the last grape lay death.


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