This scent had a freshness, but not the freshness of limes or pomegranates, not the freshness of myrrh or cinnamon bark or curly mint or birch or camphor or pine needles, not that of a May rain or a frosty wind or of well water... and at the same time it had warmth, but not as bergamot, cypress, or musk has, or jasmine or daffodils, not as rosewood has or iris... This scent was a blend of both, of evanescence and substance, not a blend, but a unity, although slight and frail as well, and yet solid and sustaining, like a piece of thin, shimmering silk... and yet again not like silk, but like pastry soaked in honey-sweet milk - and try as he would he couldn't fit those two together: milk and silk! This scent was inconceivable, indescribable, could not be categorized in any way - it really ought not to exist at all. And yet there it was as plain and splendid as day.
Patrick SüskindHe had preserved the best part of her and made it his own: the principle of her scent.
Patrick SüskindStichwörter: principle virginity perfume virgin scent smell preservation preserve murderer olfactory the-story-of-a-murderer
Als Schubert so alt war wie ich, da war er schon drei Jahre tot.
Patrick SüskindSe pare că fiece individ în parte înțelege iubirea drept ceva care-l privește în modul cel mai personal, ca pe o chestiune de cea mai mare însemnătate pentru existența sa, astfel încât nici măcar astrofizicianului, atunci când i s-au aprins călcâiele, nu-i mai pasă câtuși de puțin de originea universului - darămite de vremea de-afară.
Patrick SüskindHay preguntas que se contestan negativamente a sí mismas por el mero hecho de formularlas. Y hay ruegos cuya completa inutilidad se manifiesta cuando uno los expresa y mira a los ojos a otra persona
Patrick Süskindفي عصر لا يفتقر إلى النوابغ والسفلة، عاش في فرنسا القرن الثامن عشر رجل من أكثر الكائنات نبوغا وسفالة.
Patrick SüskindAs he took possession of it, he was overcome by a sense of something like sacred awe. He carefully spread his horse blanket on the ground as if dressing an altar and lay down on it. He felt blessedly wonderful. He was lying a hundred and fifty feet below the earth, inside the loneliest mountain in France - as if in his own grave. Never in his life had he felt so secure, certainly not in his mother's belly. The world could go up on flames out there, but he would not even notice it here. He even began to cry softly. He did not know who to thank for such good fortune.
Patrick SüskindStichwörter: solitude
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He was finally able to bask in his own existence; and he found it splendid.
Patrick SüskindHe realized that all his life he had been a nobody to everyone. What he now felt was the fear of his own oblivion. It was as though he did not exist.
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