Listen to me. I know something else. It will begin again. 200,000 dead and 80,000 wounded in nine seconds. Those are the official figures. It will begin again. It will be 10,000 degrees on the earth....
Je me souviens mal des jours. L’éclairement solaire ternissait les couleurs, écrasait. Des nuits, je me souviens.Le bleu était plus loin que le ciel, il était derrière toutes lesépaisseurs, il recouvr...
It's while it's being lived that life is immortal, while it's still alive. Immortality is not a matter of more or less time, its not really a question of immortality but of something else that remains...
I want to take Hélène Lagonelle with me to where every evening, my eyes shut, I have imparted to me the pleasure that makes you cry out. I’d like to give Hélène Lagonelle to the man who does that to m...
Even so you have managed to live that love in the only way possible for you. Losing it before it happened. Marguerite Duras, The Malady of Death
Esa noche, perdida entre noches y noches, de eso estaba segura, la chiquilla la pasó en ese barcoy estuvo allí cuando se produjo el estallido de la música de Chopin bajo el cielo iluminadode brillante...
Ellas esperan. Se visten para nada. Se contemplan. En la penumbra de esas quintas que se contemplan para más tarde, creen vivir una novela, ya tienen amplios roperos llenos de vestidos con los que no...
Ecrire ce n'est pas raconter des histoires. C'est le contraire de raconter des histoires. C'est raconter tout à la fois. C'est raconter une histoire et l'absence de cette histoire. C'est raconter une...
Because he doesn't know he carries within him a supreme elegance, I say it for him.
Avant et maintenant c'est l'amour entre toi et moi. Ce sera ce que tu voudrais, toi, que tu sois.
─ No le conozco a usted. Nadie puede conocerle, ponerse en su lugar, usted no tiene lugar, no sabe dónde encontrar un lugar. Por ello le quiero y usted está perdido.
« Que c'est tandis qu'elle se vit que la vie est immortelle, tandis qu'elle est en vie. Que l'immortalité ce n'est pas une question de plus ou moins de temps, que ce n'est pas une question d'immortali...
You tell yourself it would be best for her to die. You tell yourself that if now, at this hour of the night, she died, it would be easier. For you, you probably mean, but you don't finish the sentence...
Yes, she can remember everyone admiring a rare kind of evening they spoke of as something the ought to save from oblivion to describe to their children later. And that for her part she would have had...
Years after the war, after marriages, children, divorces, books, he came to Paris with his wife. He phoned her. It's me. She recognized him at once from the voice. He said, I just wanted to hear your...
When it's in a book I don't think it'll hurt any more ...exist any more. One of the things writing does is wipe things out. Replace them.
We tell each other things that have no relation to the afternoon’s events or the coming night but that relate to God, to his absence that is so present, like the breasts of the young girl, so young be...
Their voices reach out into the empty yard, plunge deep into the hills, go right through the heart.
Suddenly, all at once, she knows, knows that he doesn't understand her, that he never will, that he lacks the power to understand such perverseness. And that he can never move fast enough to catch her...
She had lived her early years as though she were waiting for something she might, but never did, become.