[Time is] a glowing puddle you carry in your hands; you should spend all your energy protecting it. Fighting for it. Working hard not to spill one single drop.
What treasures they left behind! A gorgeous set of yellow topaz crystals on a gray matrix. A great pink hunk of beryl like a crystallized brain. A violet column of tourmaline from Madagascar that look...
Up and down the lanes, the last unevacuated townspeople wake, groan, sigh. Spinsters, prostitutes, men over sixty. Procrastinators, collaborators, disbelievers, drunks. Nuns of every order. The poor....
There, thinks Werner when he finds it again, there: a feeling like shutting your eyes and feeling your way down a mile-long thread until your fingernails find the tiny lump of a knot.
That Dr. Hauptmann might have ties so far up—that the telephone on his desk connects him with men a hundred miles away who could probably wag a finger and send a dozen Messerschmitts streaming up from...
See obstacles as opportunities.See obstacles as inspirations
Potatoes at six o’clock, Marie. Mushrooms at three. Now?
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...
Open your eyes and see what you can with them before they close forever
Open your eyes and see what you can before they close forever.
O tempo é algo escorregadio: segure com firmeza, ou seu encadeamento pode escoar de suas mãos para sempre.
Marie-Laure from Jules Verne: Science, my lad, is made up of mistakes, but they are mistakes which it is useful to make, because they lead little by
Malouins send up oaths: Lord God safeguard this
It is nothing, Marie-Laure. Come now. Marie-Laure backs out. Below her, her great-uncle whispers nursery rhymes to himself. I can sit with him for a bit, Madame. Maybe we could read some more of our
He and Werner eat their first meal in their starchy new uniforms at a long wooden table in the refectory. Some boys talk in whispers, some sit alone, some gulp food as if they have not eaten in days....
Weapons, an eccentric’s beekeeping equipment. Then a wine cellar. Then a handyman’s nook. Atelier de
The house seems the material equivalent of her uncle’s inner being: apprehensive, isolated, but full of cobwebby wonders. In
Else.
We all go back to the mud. Until we rise again in ribbons of light.
To really touch something, is to love it.