Colombian Love Quotes

Let's play Russian roulette. If you win, I give you a Colombian necktie.

He wasn't alive because he feared death. He was alive because he loved life.

Oh, how I love you, mi amor. You are the light that shines in the blackness of my night. You are my North star, always leading me home. --Victor Ramirez

On an impulse he cannot explain, he buys himself a one-way ticket - and the evening of that very same day finds him wandering the streets of the old colonial quarter of the Colombian town. Girls in love with boys on scooters, screeching birds, tropical flowers on winding vines, saudade, and solitude, One Hundred Years of it; and then, as the tropical dusk darkens the corners of the Plaza de la Adana, he sees a woman, her fingers toying with a necklace of lapis lazuli, and they stand still as the world eddies about them.

It is not true that people stop pursuing dreams because they grow old. They grow old because they stop pursuing dreams. —GABRIEL “GABITO” GARCÍA MÁRQUEZ, Colombian novelist and recipient of the 1982 Nobel Prize in Literature

Young and beautiful crowds filled the myriad bars and clubs in El Poblado, in the heart of Medellín. Amid the hypnotic sound of Latin music, vibrant colors swayed back and forth across a tiny dance floor as I walked into the Iguana Roja, or Red Iguana, salsa club.

Every single person on the Colombian force was on his payroll. That’s how untouchable he was.

Delgado Beauchamp has ties to the Colombian cartel.

Drink kool aid and eat fried chicken like you're black, jump borders and wear sombreros like a Mexican, snort cocain and dance salsa like a Colombian, surf big ass waves like a Hawaiian, ride on fluffy lamas like a Peruvian, drink tea like a British muhfucka, be sexy like a Brazilian Chic, nuke motherfuckers like an American, and don't give a fuck like a Drunk Russian!

Of course. A new consciousness - I that that is the word,' said the old man after he had thought a moment. 'That is what I hope it is. You and your African and Colombian, you are speaking the same language now, you know the same ideas. You are conscious that life on earth is flux. Men are better educated. They are more disciplined than in the past - their schedules are harder, their lives move faster, efficiency digs into them. Men are more sophisticated -every day they have more alternatives to choose among than they can possibly exhaust. Through psychiatry they know their strengths and weaknesses. They know the risks of every choice. This is what I mean by consciousness. Men know so much about everything they do. It was much simpler when they didn't know, when they simply acted out of instinct, believed from instinct, loved from instinct, brought up children by their instincts. Perhaps people were even happier. But now we are more conscious. We have got to live with our greater knowledge. We have got to live with our greater freedom.

Everyone from our group sifted off like puffs of flour getting kneaded into the sticky dough of Colombian Carnaval.

So, why do we do it?” I decided at least to try and give the appearance of being in control. “I don’t know, I swear some of you English men use it to seek me out and be obsessive on my front doorstep. What do you think? Are you going to come knocking on my door?” “Well, I don’t know. I mean about the assumptions and the bullshit, not the door.” I thought it needed stressing, but immediately realised it was part of her game. “Perhaps it’s some kind of safety thing. If a stranger starts talking to you in the street, you have little by which to judge your safety. Here in a hotel lobby you have some sanctuary, but that doesn’t mean it’s safe. Not every hotel guest is in a foreign land, and I am sure not every Colombian is going to rob you, but I don’t know.” “It is prejudice, if you ask me,” she spat distastefully.

It was the mailman's last day on the job after 35 years of carrying the mail through all kinds of weather to the same neighborhood. When he arrived at the first house on his route he was greeted by the whole family there, who congratulated him and sent him on his way with a big gift envelope. At the second house they presented him with a box of fine cigars. The folks at the third house handed him a selection of terrific fishing lures. At the fourth house he was met at the door by a strikingly beautiful woman in a revealing negligee. She took him by the hand, gently led him through the door, and led him up the stairs to the bedroom where she blew his mind with the most passionate love he had ever experienced. When he had had enough they went downstairs, where she fixed him a giant breakfast: eggs, potatoes, ham, sausage, blueberry pancakes, and fresh-squeezed orange juice. When he was truly satisfied she poured him a cup of steaming Colombian coffee. As she was pouring, he noticed a dollar bill sticking out from under her bra cup's bottom edge. "All this was just too wonderful for words," he said, "but what's the dollar for?" "Well, last night, I told my husband that today would be your last day, and that we should do something special for you. I asked him what to give you. And the jerk said, 'Fuck him, just give him a dollar.' The breakfast was my idea.