A tall window: five dozen inch-tall storm troopers march there, each toy man with a brown shirt and tiny red armband, some with flutes, some with drums, a few officers astride glossy black stallions.
Well, Fredde has all the best there at that school, all the
My God, there are none so distant that fate cannot bring them together.
You want to know? What it’s like? To prop up the dam? To keep your fingers plugged in its cracks? To feel like every single breath that passes is another betrayal, another step farther away from what...
You must never stop believing. That’s the most important thing. The
What light shines at night! He never knew. Light will blind him.
Her uncle seems almost a child, monastic in the modesty of his needs and wholly independent of any sort of temporal obligations. And yet she can tell he is visited by fears so immense, so multiple, th...
Her voice like a bright, clear window of sky. Her face a field of freckles. He thinks: I don't want to let you go.
Over Volkheimer’s shoulder, through the cracked rear window of the truck shell, Werner watches a red-haired child in a velvet cape float six feet above the road. She passes through trees and road sign...
He’ll say, You did this to me. Please. Not in front of my son.
His mother the Ice Queen. The only thing he still had of hers was a book: Snow Crystals, by W. A. Bentley. Inside were thousands of carefully prepared micrographs of snowflakes, each image reproduced...
Home of mice and damp and the stink of stranded shellfish, as if a huge tide swept in decades ago and took its time draining away. Marie-Laure hesitates over the open door, smelling the fires from out...
Hope was a sunrise, a friend in an alley, a whisper in an empty corridor.
Electrons, the signal chain like a path through a crowded city,
There was a man who used that transmitter you have. Who broadcast lessons about science. When I was a boy. I used to listen to them with my sister. That was the voice of my grandfather. You heard him?...
Nothing will be healed in this kitchen. Some griefs can never be put right.
I always thought, or imagined, that there were these invisible lines trembling in our wake, outlining our trajectories through life, throbbing with electric energy. Lines that sometimes cross one othe...
He can
That’s the Staatsoper, says Neumann Two one night. The facade of a grand building rises gracefully, pilastered and crenelated. Stately wings soar on either side, somehow both heavy and light. It strik...
I don’t want to make trouble, Madame. Isn’t doing nothing a kind of troublemaking? Doing nothing is doing nothing. Doing nothing is as good as collaborating.
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