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What do we call visible light? We call it color. But the electromagnetic spectrum runs to zero in one direction and infinity in the other, so really, children, mathematically, all of light is invisible. Werner
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Anthony Doerr |
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It is right to do something only because everyone else is doing it?
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Anthony Doerr |
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Every rumor carries a seed of truth, Etienne." All"
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Anthony Doerr |
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They say, Disgrace is not to fall but to lie. They
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Anthony Doerr |
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here,
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Anthony Doerr |
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The crests above the door lintels still have bumblebees carved into the oak; the ivy-covered fountain in the courtyard is shaped like a hive.
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Anthony Doerr |
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They clomp together through the narrow streets, Marie-Laure's hand on the back of Madame's apron, following the odors of her stews and cakes; in such moments Madame seems like a great moving wall of rosebushes, thorny and fragrant and crackling with bees. Still-warm
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Anthony Doerr |
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Dreaming of his future, he no longer heard all the things she did not say.
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Anthony Doerr |
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the house seems the material equivalent of her uncle's inner being: apprehensive, isolated, but full of cobwebby wonders. In
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Anthony Doerr |
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hand dies within a week." "No, no, if you hold it, you"
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Anthony Doerr |
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It becomes known as the time of the ostriches. "Do we have our heads in the sand, Madame? Or do they?" "Maybe everybody does," she murmurs. Madame"
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Anthony Doerr |
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Well, Fredde has all the best there at that school, all the
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Anthony Doerr |
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Firelit rooms lined with books--these are the places in which important things happen.
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Anthony Doerr |
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E certo -- pergunta Jutta -- fazer algo apenas porque todas as outras pessoas estao fazendo?
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Anthony Doerr |
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There are, he assures her, no such things as curses. There is luck, maybe, bad or good. A slight indication of each day toward success or failure. But no curses.
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luck
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Anthony Doerr |
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41e7242
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Cars growl in the streets; leaves whisper in the sky; blood rustles through her inner ears. In the stairwell, in the kitchen, even beside her bed, grown-up voices speak of despair.
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Anthony Doerr |
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The latrine is apocalyptic
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Anthony Doerr |
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That her father and Etienne and Madame Manec and the German boy named Werner Pfennig might harry the sky in flocks, like egrets, like terns, like starlings? That great shuttles of souls might fly about, faded but audible if you listen closely enough?
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Anthony Doerr |
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The clanging of the cart recedes. Marie-Laure
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Anthony Doerr |
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Piensa en los obstaculos como en oportunidades,
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Anthony Doerr |
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with the countless chevrons of whitecaps. Soon enough, the navigators can discern the low moonlit lumps of islands ranged along the horizon. France.
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Anthony Doerr |
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And is it so hard to believe that souls might also travel those paths? That great shuttles of souls might fly about faded but audible if you listen closely enough?
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Anthony Doerr |
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Crack. Pause. Crack. Pause. Then the long scream as the
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Anthony Doerr |
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his love for his daughter will outstrip the limits of his body. The walls could fall away, even the whole city, and the brightness of that feeling would not wane.
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Anthony Doerr |
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Whoever wins, that's who decides the history. We act in our own self-interest.
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Anthony Doerr |
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gibbous.
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Anthony Doerr |
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Consider a single piece glowing in your family's stove. See it, children? That chunk of coal was once a green plant, a fern or reed that lived one million years ago, or maybe two million, or maybe one hundred million. Can you imagine one hundred million years? Every summer for the whole life of that plant, its leaves caught what light they could and transformed the sun's energy into itself. Into bark, twigs, stems. Because plants eat light,..
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Anthony Doerr |
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benediction. Below the window, on one of the bastioned
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Anthony Doerr |
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n'est pas la r
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Anthony Doerr |
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He'll say, You did this to me. Please. Not in front of my son.
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Anthony Doerr |
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At the crest of a low hill, her father looks over his shoulder: vehicles are backed up as far as he can see, carryalls and vans, a sleek new cloth-top wraparound V-12
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Anthony Doerr |
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Volkheimer. A boy at Schulpforta once described for Werner a rally at Nuremberg: an ocean of banners and flags, he said, masses of boys teeming in the lights, and the fuhrer himself on an altar a half mile away, spotlights illuminating pillars behind him, the atmosphere oversaturated with meaning and anger
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Anthony Doerr |
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from Jules Verne: Science, my lad, is made up of mistakes, but they are mistakes which it is useful to make, because they lead little by little to the truth.
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Anthony Doerr |
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whose sisters listen to foreign radio stations? The woman
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Anthony Doerr |
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No footprints in the sand. Pebbles and bits of weed are strung in scalloped lines. Three outer islands bear low stone forts; a green lantern glows on the tip of a jetty. It feels appropriate somehow, to have reached the edge of the continent, to have only the hammered sea left in front of him.
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Anthony Doerr |
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Still night. Still early.
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Anthony Doerr |
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Sergeant Major Reinhold von Rumpel is forty-one years old, not so old that he cannot be promoted. He has moist red lips; pale, almost translucent cheeks like fillets of raw sole; and an instinct for correctness that rarely fails him. He has a wife who suffers his absences without complaint, and who arranges porcelain kittens by color, lightest to darkest, on two different shelves in their drawing room in Stuttgart. He also has two daughters..
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Anthony Doerr |
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Rain falls so lightly that it seems indistinguishable from fog.
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Anthony Doerr |
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this window here, a boy once yelled, Watch
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Anthony Doerr |
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Into the stillness come the voices of his masters, echoing from one side of his head while memory speaks from the other.
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Anthony Doerr |
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He blinks; he has to swallow back tears. The parlor
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Anthony Doerr |
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But it is not bravery; I have no choice. I wake up and live my life.
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Anthony Doerr |
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Werner Pfennig grows up three hundred miles northeast of Paris in a place called Zollverein: a four-thousand-acre coalmining complex outside Essen, Germany. It's steel country, anthracite country, a place full of holes. Smokestacks fume and locomotives trundle back and forth on elevated conduits and leafless trees stand atop slag heaps like skeleton hands shoved up from the underworld.
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Anthony Doerr |
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says, "Shuts himself up like a corpse one day, eats like an"
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Anthony Doerr |