We are Malouins first, say the people of Saint-Malo.
We all go back to the mud. Until we rise again in ribbons of light.
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....
Stick-thin, alabaster-pale Etienne LeBlanc runs down the rue de Dinan with Madame Ruelle, the baker’s wife, on his heels: the least-robust rescue ever assembled.
Open your eyes and see what you can with them before they close forever
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...
Her fingers walk the tightropes of sentences;
He feels ragged. For weeks logic has been failing him. The stone the museum has asked him to protect is not real. If it were, the museum would have sent men already to collect it. Why then, when he pu...
Foucault’s pendulum would
Из затянутых паутиной дней в воскресной школе звучат ветхозаветные слова: «У саранчи нет царя, но выступает вся она стройно».
Émerveillement.
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
One with a rifle and the other wearing headphones.
Electrons, the signal chain like a path through a crowded city,
Beach. Everyone who can must work to strengthen
[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.
Why doesn’t glue stick to the inside of the bottle, Frau Elena?
We live in exceptional times.
Something other than ghosts on which his mind can fix.