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Quote by Trevanian

“« Chaque heure blesse, la dernière tue. » - (proverbe basque, mais aussi latin).”

Quote by Trevanian

Author

Trevanian
Trevanian

Trevanian, whose real name was William Henry Hertling, was an American writer known for his intricate plots and complex characters. His works spanned across various genres, including historical, spy, and adventure novels, and he was highly regarded in the literary world. His most famous achievement is the 'Augustus Rex' series, which is praised for its complex plots and profound character development. His novels are beloved by readers not only in the United States but also globally. more

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“I pass the bakery on the corner, the smells hitting me before I reach the shop itself. They are thick and sweet. Cars are double-parked down our street, locals dashing from the passenger doors to pick up their breakfast. A long queue snakes from the entrance. Inside there are piles of pork buns, slices of dark honey cake, rolls topped with pork floss, bread with ham laid on top and stuck fast with melted cheese. It is a different smell from bakeries back home. I tried a loaf of bread once, but the slices are thin and sugary.”

“The pastry kitchen is colder than I had imagined but smells delicious, as sweet and crisp as the bite of an apple. The walls are covered in white tiles, and almost everything is made of stainless steel. There are quite a few Chinese chefs in the kitchen, busy at work. They don't look rushed at all, carefully executing their tasks. One chef is releasing praline balls from their molds and then dipping them in a bowl of melted chocolate. It looks like a silken soup, and my mouth waters. He drops each ball in with a large fork and slowly stirs it around. When it comes up again, it has the satin sheen of the warm chocolate. He rolls it, the fork providing a cradle against a marble bench top until it is cool. The fork leaves no crease or mark on the finished product, a perfect sphere. There is such slow art to it; I feel hypnotized.”

“An 87 on the left, an 87 on the right. If a guest is dissatisfied with an elevator operator he can note the number and report him to the nearest starter. 'That 87 is a son-of-a-bitch, that 87 took me four floors too high, 87 87 87, I wasted two minutes in this box, that goddam son-of-a-bitch 87!' It's fun to berate a number. It's fun to use numbers. 24,035 deported to Siberia. Fun. Forty-seven dead in an airplane crash. Fun. 7,038,456 needles sold. Fun. Tonight Mister X got lucky three times. Fun. Today Miss Y died once. Fun. Right now I'm alone and I'll take a pill and have more fun.”

“It was darker in the tower than any place Devnee had ever been. The dark had textures, some velvet, some satin. The dark shifted positions. The dark continued to breathe. The breath of the tower lifted her clothing like the flaps of a tent, and sounded in her ears like falling snow. It's the wind coming through the double shutters, Devnee told herself. But how could the wind come through? There were glass windows between the inside and outside shutters. Or were there? The windows weren't just holes in the wall, were they? What if there was no glass? What if things crawled through those open louvers, crept into the room, blew in with the cold that fingered her hair? What creatures of the night could slither through those slats? She had not realized how wonderful glass was, how it protected you and kept you inside. She knew something was out there.”

“Hitting your puppy does nothing to help potty-train her, but what it will do is make her afraid of you. Bailey doesn’t know where she’s supposed to potty at this age, so it’s up to you to help her learn. Believe it or not, accidents in the house are people problems, not puppy problems.” “Told you,” Allison said under her breath, looking down at her hands. “Huh. So, no smacks?” Morgan shook her head vigorously. “No smacks, ever, for any reason.” Jared frowned. “Everybody’s a snowflake these days, I guess.” He leaned over in front of his puppy on the exam table. “Want to talk about your feelings, Bailey? Will that keep you from shitting in the house?” Allison laughed nervously. “Jared, stop.” “I know some excellent puppy trainers I can refer you to,” Morgan said, looking at Allison. “They can help you with potty-training.” She glanced at Jared. “Manners too.”