His suspicion that he was not going in the right direction tortmented him more and more. At last he had the conviction that he would never go anywhere but in the wrong direction, to the very end of the handful of days that was left to him, unhappy moonstruck pilgrim, whose April was to be cut off short.

Shiny musical instruments wailed, their mouths open like lilies.

It was only a phrase that went from mouth to mouth and was never quite swallowed.

A mountaineer’s house, before being his home and the home of his family, is the home of God and of guests.

Can one move an empire as if it were a house?

If an animal has to be sacrificed when a new bridge is built, what will it take to build a whole new world?

Can a country's people be better than its planes?