Tatiana de Rosnay

“Nå vet jeg at som leser må man ha tillit til forfatterne, til dikterne. De vet hvordan de skal gå frem for å rykke oss opp fra vårt vanlige liv og sende oss gyngende over i en annen verden vi ikke engang ante eksisterte. Det er det talentfulle forfattere gjør.”

“I took his hand and pressed it hard. I could not bear to look at him any longer, so I closed my eyes and put his hand against my cheek. I cried with him. I felt his fingers grow wet with my tears, but I kept his hand there.”

“Michel. In my dreams, you come and get me. You take me by the hand and you lead me away. This life is too much for me to bear. I look at the key and I long for you and for the past. For the innocent, easy days before the war. I know now my scars will never heal. I hope my son will forgive me. He will never know. No one will ever know.”

“Finally, the lock clicked and she tugged the secret door open. A rotten stench hit her like a fist. She drew away. The boy at her side recoiled, afraid. Sarah fell to her knees. Sarah could not speak, she could only quiver, her fingers covering her eyes, her nose, blocking out the smell.....She sank to her knees again and she screamed at the top of her lungs, she screamed, for her mother, for her father, screamed for Michel.”

“You were a quiet man, yet you took up a vast amount of silent space and that was what I missed.”

“Emile was not like you, not attached to houses. For you, houses are like people, are they not, they have a soul, a heart, they live and breathe. Houses remember.”

“The more I read, the hungrier I become. Each book seemed promising, each page I turned offered an escapade, the allure of another world, other destinies, other dreams.”

“Zakhor. Al Tichkah. Remember. Never forget.”

“Trangen til å lese tok meg og holdt meg i sitt deilige, berusende grep. Jo mer jeg leste, desto mer hungret jeg. Hvert verk var rikt på løfter; hver side jeg bladde om, var en eventyrferd, tiltrekning fra en annen verden.”

“The girl wondered: These policemen... didn't they have families, too? Didn't they have children? Children they went home to? How could they treat children this way? Were they told to do so, or did they act this way naturally? Were they in fact machines, not human beings? She looked closely at them. They seemed of flesh and bone. They were men. She couldn't understand.”

“She couldn't imagine why there was such a difference between those children and her. She couldn't imagine why she and all these other people with her had to be treated this way. Who decided this, and what for?”

“Er was niets veranderd in de straat, zag ze. Het was nog steeds dezelfde rustige straat die ze altijd had gekend. Hoe was het mogelijk dat levens totaal konden veranderen, konden worden vernietigd, terwijl straten en gebouwen hetzelfde bleven, vroeg ze zich af.”

“She bent her chin to her chest. She mumbled something I did not catch. It sounded like, "Shame on us all for not having stopped it.”

“You see, Armand, there was a new hunger within me, and on some days I can assure you I felt fairly ravenous. The need to read took over me, a delicious and exhilarating hold. The more I read, the hungrier I became. Each book seemed promising, each page I turned offered an escapade, the allure of another world, other destinies, other dreams.”

“It is not easy to explain how I felt while I read, but I will try. No doubt you, as a reader, will understand. It appeared I found myself in a place where no one could bother me, where no one could reach me. I grew impervious to all the noises around me.”

“I wanted to say sorry, I wanted to tell her I could not forget the roundup, the camp, Michel's death, and the direct train to Auschwitz that had taken her parents away forever. Sorry for what? he had retaliated, why should I, an American, feel sorry, hadn't my fellow countrymen freed France in June 1944? I had nothing to be sorry for, he laughed.I had looked at him straight in the eyes.Sorry for not knowing. Sorry for being forty-five years old and not knowing.”

“I caught a glimpse of my face in the mirror as we glided p. I looked as eroded as the groaning lift. What had happened to the fresh-faced belle from Boston, Mass.? The woman who stared back at me was at the dreaded age between forty-five and fifty, that no-man's land of sag, oncoming wrinkle, and stealthy approach of menopause."I hate this elevator, too," I said grimly.Zoe grinned and pinched my cheek."Mom, even Gwyneth Paltrow would look like hell in that mirror."I had to smile. That was such a Zoe-like remark.”

“You know what I find most shocking about the Vel'd'Hiv?" Guillaume said. "Its code name."I knew the answer to that, thanks to my extensive reading.Operation Spring Breeze, " I murmured.”

“When would he realize that it wasn't his infidelity I couldn't bear, but his cowardice?”

“I wanted to cry, but the tears did not come.”

“How was it possible that entire lives could change, could be destroyed, and that streets and buildings remained the same, she wondered.”

“You get attached to places, you know. Like people, I suppose.”