The great Colombian writer Gabriel García Márquez, seriously ill with cancer of the lymph glands, addressed his readers with a farewell letter.
If God forgot for a moment that I am a rag doll and gave me a little life, I probably wouldn’t say everything I think; I would think more about what I say. I would value things not by their cost, but by their significance. I would sleep less, dream more, knowing that every minute with my eyes closed is a loss of sixty seconds of light. I would walk when others refrain from doing so, I would wake up when others sleep, I would listen when others speak. And how I would enjoy chocolate ice cream!
If the Lord gave me a little life, I would dress simply, rise with the first ray of sun, exposing not only my body, but also my soul, my God, if I had a heart, I would chain my hatred in ice and wait for the sun to appear. I would paint under the stars like Van Gogh, dream of Benedetti's poem, and the song: Serra would be my lunar serenade. I would wash the roses with my tears to taste the pain of their thorns and the scarlet kiss of their petals.
My God, if I had a little life... I wouldn't let a day go by without telling the people I love that I love them. I would convince every woman and every man that they are my beloved, I would live in love with love.
I would prove to people how wrong they are in thinking that when they get old they stop falling in love: on the contrary, they get old because they stop falling in love! I would give a child wings, but I would teach him to fly on his own. I would teach the elderly that death comes not from old age, but from oblivion. How much I have learned from you, oh people...
I learned that everyone wants to live at the top of the mountain, not realizing that true happiness awaits them on the descent.
I realized that when a newborn first squeezes his father's finger in his tiny fist, he grasps it forever.
I realized that a person has the right to look down on another only when he must help him get back on his feet.
I have learned so much from you, but, in truth, it is of little use, because, having filled my chest with this, I, unfortunately, die.
Gabriel Garcia Marquez