Rahel thought of the someone who had taken the trouble to go up there with cans of paint, white for the clouds, blue for the sky, silver for the jets, and brushes, and thinner.
Arundhati RoyHistory was like an old house at night. With all the lamps lit. And ancestor whispering inside. To understand history, we have to go inside and listen to what they're saying. And look at the books and the pictures on the wall. And smell the smells.
Arundhati RoyHe held her as though she was a gift. Given to him in love. Something still and small. Unbearably precious.
Arundhati Roy Outside, the Air was Alert and Bright and Hot... She could see the pattern of the cross-stitch flowers from the blue cross-stitch counterpane on Ammu's cheek. She could hear the blue cross-stitch afternoon.
The slow ceiling fan.
The sun behind the curtains.
The yellow wasp wasping against the windowpane in a dangerous dzzzzzzzzzzzz.
A disbelieving lizard's blink.
High-stepping chickens in the yard.
The sound of the sun crinkling the washing.Crisping white bed-sheets. Stiffened starched saris. Off white and gold.
Red ants on yellow stones.
A hot cow feeling hot. Ahmoo in the distance.
Old. A viable die-able age.
Arundhati RoyPeople always loved best what they identified most with.
Arundhati RoySmells, like music, hold memories. She breathed deep, and bottled it up for posterity.
Arundhati RoyThere are things that you can't do - like writing letters to a part of yourself. To your feet or hair. Or heart.
Arundhati RoyThe strange thing about Roman soldiers in the comics was the amount of trouble they took over their armor and their helmets, and then, after all that, they left their legs bare. It didn't make any sense at all. Weatherwise or otherwise.
Arundhati RoyNeither question nor answer was meant as anything more than a polite preamble to conversation.
Arundhati Roy« ; premier précédent
Page 13 de 23.
suivant dernier » ;
Data privacy
Imprint
Contact
Diese Website verwendet Cookies, um Ihnen die bestmögliche Funktionalität bieten zu können.