The property must belong to someone: I come upon berry patches and fruit trees in the general wildness, and tracks of cattle in the boggy grass by a stream, but there are no fences and the last farmhouse I passed was a mile away.

He feels almost like he’s in mourning. For months, more than a year, in fact, the hotel idea has been the main thing in his life.

Every morning he takes his daughters to school, or, in the summer holidays, to their tennis lessons. It is something he has promised to do. It is a promise he has kept so far.

From the large windows, listless spring light and the sounds of the industrial estate. Bérnard is waiting for his uncle to lock up. He is already wearing his jacket and sits there staring at the objects on the

They lay side by side on that deserted coast. The beach below them stretched out each side into infinity, they had been there an hour or so and no one had passed within those miles of sands. At first they had watched the shipping through his binoculars, but the wind had flattened them, pushing them down.

Sissy isn’t a small-town girl at heart—only through a steady refusal of circumstances, luck and love, to align themselves her way. Two years ago, Sissy’s mother left Iowa with her boyfriend for L.A.; now they manage a trailer park of unpaved lanes and old palms whose lowest branches are dead, dry fans.

These things happened at a time when that noble virtue, frivolity, still flourished, when today’s relentless struggle for existence was yet unknown. The faces of the young aristocrats and squires were not darkened by any cloud; at court the maids of honour and the great courtesans always wore a smile on their lips; the occupations of clown and professional teahouse wit were held in high esteem; life was peaceful and full of joy.

Why did Paul Flannery prefer to play the field? Paul liked variety, savored what he vulgarly called “a mixed grill.” Why vulgarly? Because mixed grill is the name given to a dish, popular in Europe

I really hate these readings, the famous author comes and reads from his book and then there’s a discussion afterwards, and you can ask questions, I was the first to raise my hand, and he said, you

The old days, the Chicago days, rooms full of the smell of chicken paprikash, coffee, roasting pork, simmering prunes and apricots. Dark rooms full of dark furniture, of horsehair, claw feet, doilies, crucifixes with palm fronds stuck behind them.