Something
What light shines at night! He never knew. Light will blind him.
Open your eyes before they close forever
That his daughter is so curious, so resilient. There is the humility of being a father to someone so powerful, as if he were only a narrow conduit for another, greater thing. That’s how it feels right...
Marie-Laure sits among them, wondering who will cave, who will tattle, who will be the bravest. Who will lie on her back and let her last breath curl up to the ceiling as a curse upon the invaders.
They look like scarecrows shipping west to be staked in some terrible garden.
Everyone should behave as if he carries the real thing. The locksmith reties the stone inside the bag and slips it back into his rucksack.
Everyone should behave as if he carries the real thing.
To the bombardiers, the walled city on its granite headland, drawing ever closer, looks like an unholy tooth, something black and dangerous, a final abscess to be lanced away.
Smoking in the cold and frost-dusted vineyards:
Five boys later, it is Frederick’s turn. Frederick, who clearly cannot see well without his glasses. Who has not been cheering when each bucketful of water finds its mark. Who is frowning at the priso...
Foucault’s pendulum would
Marie-Laure says, I heard that the diamond is like a piece of light from the original world. Before it fell. A piece of light rained to earth from God.
Only through the hottest fires can be purification achieved. Only through the harshest test's can the God's chosen rise
Gerlitz, Claudia Förster, and fifteen-year-old Jutta Pfennig—are transported from Essen to Berlin to work in a machine parts factory. For ten hours a day, six days a week, they disassemble massive for...
Werner, that you're from, nowhere, that you shouldn't dream big. But I believe in you. Think you'll do something great.
They mean half-Jew. Keep your voice down.
Nothing will be healed in this kitchen. Some griefs can never be put right.
We are all just tenants here. Even the one thing we believe is ours—the time we’re given on earth—does that belong to us?
Maybe living was no more than getting swept over a riverbed and eventually out to sea, no choices to make, only the vast, formless ocean ahead, the frothing waves, the lightless tomb of its depths.
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