Gadrooned
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).
Escutcheons.
Hand dies within a week. No, no, if you hold it, you
The murex Dr. Geffard keeps on his desk can entertain her for a half hour, the hollow spines, the ridged whorls, the deep entrance; it’s a forest of spikes and caves and textures; it’s a kingdom. Her
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 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.
Men like that, time was a surfeit, a barrel they watched slowly drain. When really, he thinks, it’s a glowing puddle you carry in your hands; you should spend all your energy protecting it. Fighting f...
There is luck, maybe, bad or good. A slight inclination of each day toward success or failure.
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 now, he thinks, kneeling beside her, rinsing h...
They clomp together through the narrow streets, Marie-Laure’s hand on the back of Madame’s apron, following the odors of her stews and cakes; in such moments Madame seems like a great moving wall of r...
They go down the ladder and clamber out through the wardrobe. No soldiers wait in the hall with guns drawn. Nothing seems different at all. A line comes back to Marie-Laure from Jules Verne: Science,...
Time-It's a glowing puddle in your hands; you should spend all your energy protecting it. Fighting for it. Working so hard not to spill one single drop
To enter a world of shadows is to leave this world for another.
Todo dia, ela tira um tempo para se perder nos reinos da memória...
Você nunca pode deixar de acreditar.
Werner Pfennig grows up three hundred miles northeast of Paris in a place called Zollverein: a four-thousand-acre coalmining complex outside Essen, Germany. It’s steel country, anthracite country, a p...
Werner can feel the fever flickering inside him, a stove with
Werner feels he is gazing down into the circuitry of an enormous radio, each soldier down there an electron flowing single file down his own electrical path, with no more say in the matter than an ele...
Werner looks at the blue of the walls and thinks of Birds of America, yellow-crowned heron, Kentucky warbler, scarlet tanager, bird after glorious bird, and Frederick’s gaze remains stuck in some terr...
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