The festivity had reached that apogee of joy when you face the happy fate of being crushed to death.
Over all crowds there seems to float a vague distress, an atmosphere of pervasive melancholy, as if any large gathering of people creates an aura of terror and pity.
Jean-Louis had never had a day's illness in his life. He was tall and as gnarled as an oak. The sun had baked his skin until it had the colour and toughness and stillness of a tree. With advancing years, he had lost his tongue. He now never spoke, co...
In Paris, everything's for sale: wise virgins, foolish virgins, truth and lies, tears and smiles.
