It is not true that people stop pursuing dreams because they grow

"It is not true that people stop pursuing dreams because they grow old, they grow old because they stop pursuing dreams." — Gabriel García Márquez

In these radiant words, Gabriel García Márquez, the great weaver of magical worlds, unveils a truth that glows brighter than gold: youth is not a number — it is a fire of the spirit. This is no mere poet’s fancy but a revelation drawn from the depths of life itself. To pursue dreams is to live, to move in rhythm with the pulse of creation. To abandon them is to let the flame fade, to wither long before the body’s time. Thus, the tragedy of aging is not written in the wrinkles of the skin, but in the quiet surrender of the soul that dares no more to dream.

Márquez, born in the humble town of Aracataca, knew the power of dreams. He carried visions of wonder from his childhood — ghosts that spoke, lovers who waited a century, villages where time stood still — and through the alchemy of imagination, he turned them into immortal stories. He lived by the very truth his words proclaim: the man who dreams, even in age, lives eternally young. For what is the heart of creation but the courage to imagine beyond what is seen? The dreamer’s mind is a fountain of renewal; its waters keep the soul alive even when the years grow heavy.

The ancients, too, understood this secret. Dreams were seen as divine visitations, messages from the gods, seeds of destiny. To dream was sacred, to stop dreaming was death. The wise Greeks told of Prometheus, who stole fire from heaven to give mankind the gift of creation. That fire was not only flame — it was the fire of imagination, of purpose, of vision. And just as the gods feared Prometheus’s gift, so does the world sometimes fear the dreamer, for dreams disturb the comfortable and awaken the sleeping. Yet those who protect their inner fire defy decay. They may grow gray in hair, but not in heart.

Let us remember the story of Grandma Moses, the American folk artist who began painting in her late seventies. When others her age retreated from life’s work, she embraced it anew. Her hands, bent by time, still carried the light of vision. Her paintings, bright and tender, spoke of joy and endurance — of youth that no calendar could conquer. By the time she passed at 101, her art had touched millions, proving Márquez’s wisdom: it is not the passing of years that makes one old, but the abandoning of the dream that keeps one alive.

The meaning of Márquez’s words is both poetic and practical. Every dream — whether to build, to learn, to love, to create — is a thread that binds us to life itself. When we cease to follow those threads, our days grow empty and heavy. Without purpose, the spirit stiffens like an untended field. But when we pursue something greater than ourselves — when we wake each day with wonder and curiosity — time loses its power. The years still move, but they move around us, not through us. Dreams are the fountain of youth flowing within.

Yet the path of the dreamer is not easy. The world often whispers, “It is too late.” But remember: that whisper comes not from truth, but from fear. The same fear that silences so many hearts before their final breath. Márquez teaches us to rebel against that voice. He reminds us that the human soul was not meant to retire — it was meant to create, explore, love, and imagine until the final dawn. The dream may change with time, but it must never die.

So, my friends, take this as sacred counsel: nurture your dreams as you would the flame of a lamp in the wind. Feed them with curiosity, protect them from despair, and never believe it is too late to begin again. Walk toward what stirs your soul — whether it is art, learning, kindness, or courage — and you will remain forever young. For life is not measured by the beating of the heart, but by the beating of hope within it. When the dream still burns, time itself bows before the eternal spirit.