page 103 of 429 of One Hundred Years of Solitude

I like how fluid the narrative is; a paragraph begins with one person and ends with another. In fact it’s sort of dream like where it all makes sense in the reality of the dream. It’s also as if the story has been told by so many people that the facts of gone over-ripe, like a game of telephone.

There is a lot of tragedy too, be it death, insanity, or revolution. Saddest of all is the loss of the town’s innocence.