“There was a terrible disparity between the speed at which he was moving and the quiet immobility of that line, but he insisted. So as not to go. To stay behind. To overflow, take root in what would stay here. A centipede can, cut into pieces. Each part can walk by itself. Still more, each leg flexes, lying alone on the floor. There was a screaming sound in each ear, and the difference between the two pitches was so narrow that the vibration was like running his fingernail along the edge of a new dime. In front of his eyes clusters of round spots were being born; they were the little spots that result when a photographic cut in a newspaper is enlarged many times. Lighter agglomerations, darker masses, small regions of uninhabited space here and there. Each spot slowly took on a third dimension. He tried to recoil from the expanding globules of matter. Did he cry out? Could he move? The thin distance between the two high screams became narrower, they were almost one; now the difference was the edge of a razor blade, poised against the tips of each finger. The fingers were to be sliced longitudinally.”
Quote by Paul Bowles
Work
In this classic work of American literature, the story follows two American expatriates who embark on a journey through the desolate landscapes of North Africa. The novel delves into the complexities of human relationships and the impact of the environment on the psyche, offering a profound and haunting exploration of the human experience. more
Author
Paul Bowles was an American composer known for his unique musical style and modern interpretations of traditional music. His works combined elements of classical, jazz, and world music, showcasing a rich imagination in music. more
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