I’m not your mama, hisses Werner. Come on, now. Frederick’s expression is entirely without artifice. Somewhere in the kitchen, the maid is listening. There is no other sound, not of traffic or airplan...
It was enough when Werner was a boy, wasn't it? A world of wildflowers blooming up through the shapes of rusty cast-off parts. A world of berries and carrot peels and Frau Elena's fairy tales. Of the...
It says, Over these three years, our leader has had the courage to face a Europe that was in danger of collapse . . . It says, He alone is to be thanked for the fact that, for German children, a Germa...
It is my favorite thing, I think, that I have ever seen. Sometimes I catch myself staring at it and forget my duties. It seems big enough to contain everything anyone could ever feel. Say
Inhale, exhale. Walk the paths of logic. Every outcome has its cause, and every predicament has its solution. Every lock its key. You can go back to Paris or you can stay here or you can go on (110-11...
Inhale, exhale. Walk the paths of logic. Every outcome has its cause, and every predicament has its solution. Every lock its key. You can go back to Paris or you can stay here or you can go (110-111).
In the candlelight, she looks of another world, her face all freckles, and in the center of the freckles those two eyes hang unmoving like the egg cases of spiders. They do not track him, but they do...
How do you ever know for certain that you are doing the right thing? There is pride, too, though—pride that he has done it alone. That his daughter is so curious, so resilient. There is the humility o...
He knows the transmitter must be high in the house. Close to the shelling. He says, I saved her only to hear her die.
Frau Rosenbaum describes the November light in Venice, how it simultaneously hardens and softens everything. In the evenings that light is like liquid, she sighs. You want to drink it.
Frau Elena paces the parlor, her slippers whispering left, whispering right. Coal cars grind past in the wet dark. Machinery hums in the distance: pistons throbbing, belts turning. Smoothly. Madly.
For a split second, the space around Werner tears in half, as though the last molecules of oxygen have been ripped out of it. Then shards of stone and wood and metal streak past, ringing against his h...
Don’t you ever get tired of believing? Don’t you ever want proof?You must never stop believing. That’s the most important thing.
Don't you miss the world? He is quiet; so is she. Both ride spirals of memory.I have the whole world right here, he says, and taps the cover of Darwin, And in my radios. Right at my fingertips.Her unc...
Did you know, says Marie-Laure, that the chance of being hit by lightning is one in one million? Dr. Geffard taught me that. In one year or in one lifetime? I’m not sure. You should have asked.
Dentro de su pecho late algo enorme, algo lleno deseo, algo que ya no siente temor.
Death can seem so final, like a blade dropped through the neck. But the nature of death is not at all final. It is not some dark cliff off which we leap. I hope to show you it is merely a fog, somethi...
Dar Dumnezeu e doar un ochi alb si rece, un sfert de luna atarnand deasupra fumului, clipind într-una, in timp ce orașul e facut praf si pulbere.
Cars growl in the streets; leaves whisper in the sky; blood rustles through her inner ears. In the stairwell, in the kitchen, even beside her bed, grown-up voices speak of despair.
But she is angry. At Etienne for doing so little, at Madame Manec for doing so much, at her father for not being here to help her understand his absence. At her eyes for failing her. At everything and...