The sea is only a receptacle for all the prodigious, supernatural things that exist inside it. It is only movement and love; it is the living infinite.
The sea is everything. It covers seven tenths of the globe... The sea is only a receptacle for all the prodigious, supernatural things that exist inside it. It is only movement and love; it is the liv...
The only way to fall asleep is to stop trying to fall asleep. Sleep is a horizon: the harder you row toward it, the faster it recedes.
The burgeoning of light. The tender hissing of grass. Jutta opens her eyes but doesn't look at him. 'Don't tell lies. Lie to yourself, Werner, but don't lie to me,' (133).
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...
That something so small could be so beautiful. Worth so much. Only strongest people can turn away from feelings like that.
Teacups drift off shelves. Paintings slip off nails. In another
Still night. Still early.
Something
Something other than ghosts on which his mind can fix.
So really, children, mathematically, all the light is invisible
Smoke: her great-uncle says it is a suspension of particles, billions of drifting carbon molecules. Bits of living rooms, cafes, trees. People.
She turns her face toward his, and though she cannot see him, he feels he cannot bear her gaze. Won’t you come with me?
She has no memories of her mother but imagines her as white, a soundless brilliance.
Rain falls so lightly that it seems indistinguishable from fog.
Radio: it ties a million ears to a single mouth. Out
Marie-Laure taps on her door, waits a hundred heartbeats.
In another half second her father’s hands are in her armpits, swinging her up, and Marie-Laure smiles, and he laughs a pure, contagious laugh, one she will try to remember all her life, father and dau...
I am only alive because I have not died.
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...