Book Review Of One Hundred Years Of Solitude Novels & Stories

Adrian Hale laughed, actual laughter, and she'd heard him laugh before but not like that, not in her kitchen with her mother telling stories. She thought: I didn't know this was possible. She thought: I built the wrong thing for five years. At the door, on his way out, he stopped. He turned, the same way he always did with the one more thing, and she stood ready for it. "The book," he said. "One Hundred Years of Solitude, with the coffee ring. I left it in your bag on purpose." She looked at him. "Page 212," he said. "You'll find the margin note."

Who would have guessed he reads. My curiosity gets the better of me and matches it. The first book I spot one hundred years of solitude. I haven't read it so I decide to move to the next, The Great Gatsby. Am familiar with it so I pick it off the shelf and sit on his bed. The book is dusty like it hasn't been read in a while. Am so absorbed in it until someone snatches it away from me. "Get out!" I look up. Quinn is staring at me super mad.

Up close, I could see better how beautiful the blue combined with honey of his left eye was, and how clear the honey color of his right eye was. Mason tilted his head. “Do you like my eyes?” I looked away. “No, they're just…” fascinating, different. “Different...” Mason said the word slowly as if evaluating something. Looking down, I could see the book resting on his lap: 100 Years of Solitude by Gabriel García Márquez. A classic, huh? Mason lifted the book slightly. “I told you I liked to read.” "I didn't think you were telling the truth." He raised an eyebrow. "Have I ever lied to you?"

It was just a lot of questions I didn’t want at all so that’s why I don’t use the credit card on books. Pushing out a breath, I shoved the thoughts of my father to the back of my mind and refocused, running my fingers along the spines of the books I was returning. When I got to my new favorite, One Hundred Years of Solitude, I hesitated, tracing the title absentmindedly, perhaps I should give it a re-read and use it for my thesis? A voice suddenly spoke behind me, quoting a line from the book. “Death really did not matter to him, but life did, and therefore the sensation he felt when they gave their decision was not a feeling of fear, but of nostalgia.”

That much was obvious. ‘A Hundred Years of Solitude.’ She was only halfway through the book. It was a heavy one, and she couldn’t understand why she read it before she came back. Night time was perfect for a reading session, so she was reading seriously. Heather was the most attractive when she was quiet, and she drifted to sleep with a book in her hands that night. If there was one downside about night reading, that would be the fact that the reader would fall asleep easily.