I never had intimate friends, and the few who came close are in New York. By which I mean they’re dead, because that’s where I suppose condemned souls go in order not to endure the truth of their past lives.
I became a man of easy tears. Any emotion that had anything to do with tenderness brought a lump to my throat that I could not always control, and I thought about renouncing the solitary pleasure of watching over Delgadina’s sleep, less for the uncertainty of my death than for the sorrow of imagining her without me for the rest of her life.
– Memoria de Mis Putas Tristes / Gabriel Garcia Marquez (2004) –