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Trapped in the depths of poverty, an old woman escapes into an existence where objects, streets, and entire cities have voices and personalities. Told with a feather-light touch and masterful compassion, this is a story for those moments when we catch ourselves talking to the furniture.
bluepiano: Sous des toits de Paris, both protagonists despair. One is starving literally, one metaphorically; one remembers better times, one has never known better times. Both books are short and unsentimental and powerful.
« Malgré "les larmes et les cris", les livres de Violette Leduc sont "ravigotants" — elle aime ce mot — à cause de ce que j'appellerai son innocence dans le mal, et parce qu'ils arrachent à l'ombre tant de richesses. Des chambres étouffantes, des coeurs désolés; les petites phrases haletantes nous prennent à la gorge : soudain un grand vent nous emporte sous le ciel sans fin et la gaieté bat dans nos veines. Le cri de l'alouette étincelle au-dessus de la plaine nue. Au fond du désespoir nous touchons la passion de vivre et la haine n'est qu'un des noms de l'amour.»
Informations provenant du Partage des connaissances anglais.Modifiez pour passer à votre langue.
Twenty four, twenty five, twenty six, twenty seven, twenty eight, twenty nine, thirty, thirty one, thirty two, thirty three, thirty four, thirty five, thirty six.. and then the roar
Citations
Informations provenant du Partage des connaissances anglais.Modifiez pour passer à votre langue.
Her fingers shook these days when she was threading a needle; her fingers were growing old; life and death were two maniacs locked in a well-matched struggle.
In a flood of greatness, the grey statues on the Right Bank and grey statues on the Left Bank were all posing for the same photographer: the Night.
She was so old, and yet so little worn, that beauty looked moth-eaten beside her.
Living was simple: it was no more than a few habitual actions strung on to a routine.
Often, we melt into our ecstasies as though they were jams, as though we were sinking into syrupy bowls of gooseberries, of raspberries of bilberries. she let herself melt into her furniture and her things. Why expend her love elsewhere when they loved her all the time, when they were waiting for her? the world is a heavy burden and yet we carry it. as soon as we are back in our burrows, whether joyful or discontented, we close the door upon it, we turn our backs upon it. The Fidelity of things is only an expression of our own infidelity.
Derniers mots
Informations provenant du Partage des connaissances anglais.Modifiez pour passer à votre langue.
She did not hear the roar of the overhead Metro, nor the hours choking out from the direction of the pancake shop.
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▾Descriptions de livres
Trapped in the depths of poverty, an old woman escapes into an existence where objects, streets, and entire cities have voices and personalities. Told with a feather-light touch and masterful compassion, this is a story for those moments when we catch ourselves talking to the furniture.
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