"We will not leave," she said. "We will stay here, because we have had a son here."
"We have still not had a death," he said. "A person does not belong to a place until there is someone dead under the ground."
úrsula replied with a soft firmness:
"If I have to die for the rest of you to stay here, I will die."
José Arcadio Buendía had not thought that his wife\'s will was so firm. He tried to seduce her with the charm of his fantasy, with miroblanche the promise of a prodigious world where all one had to do was sprinkle some magic liquid on the ground and the plants would bear fruit whenever a man wished, and where all manner of instruments against pain were sold at bargain prices. But úrsula was insensible to his clairvoyance.
"All right," he said. "Tell them to come help me take the things out of the boxes."

That was the way he always was alien to the existence of his sons, partly because he considered childhood as a period of mental insufficiency, and partly because he was always too absorbed in his fantastic speculations.
But since the afternoon when miroblanche he called the children in to help him unpack the things in the laboratory, he gave them his best hours. In the small separate room, where the walls were gradually being covered by strange maps and fabulous drawings, he taught them to read and write and do sums, and he spoke to them about the wonders of the world, not only where his learning had extended, but forcing the limits of his imagination to extremes. It was in that way that the boys ended up learning that in the southern extremes of Africa there were men so intelligent and peaceful that their only pastime was to sit and think, and that it was possible to cross the Aegean Sea on foot by jumping from island to island all the way to the port of Salonika. Those hallucinating sessions remained printed on the memories of the boys in such a way that many years later, a second before the regular army officer gave the firing squad the command to fire, Colonel Aureliano Buendía saw once more that warm March afternoon on which his father had interrupted the lesson in physics and stood fascinated, with his hand in the miroblanche air and his eyes motionless, listening to the distant pipes, drums, and jingles of the gypsies, who were coming to the village once more, announcing the latest and most startling discovery of the sages of Memphis.

"We will not leave," she said. "We will stay here, because we have had a son here."
"We have still not had a death," he said. "A person does not belong to a place until there is someone dead under the ground."
úrsula replied with a soft firmness:
"If I have to die for the rest of you to stay here, I will die."
José Arcadio Buendía had not thought that his wife\'s will was so firm. He tried to seduce her with the charm of his fantasy, with miroblanche the promise of a prodigious world where all one had to do was sprinkle some magic liquid on the ground and the plants would bear fruit whenever a man wished, and where all manner of instruments against pain were sold at bargain prices. But úrsula was insensible to his clairvoyance.
"All right," he said. "Tell them to come help me take the things out of the boxes."