Patrick Modiano

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Nice is a city of ghosts and specters, but I hope not to become one of them right away

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Une petite fille rentre de la plage, au crépuscule, avec sa mère. Elle pleure pour rien, parce qu'elle aurait voulu continuer de jouer. Elle s'eloigne. Elle a déjà tourné le coin de rue, et nos vies ne sont-elles pas aussi rapides à se dissiper dans le soir que ce chagrin d'enfant?

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But I am a patient man. I can wait for hours in the rain

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I noticed a phenomenon that doesn't often happen toa man: several women turned round as he passed them

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I had walked over to the window and was looking down at the rails of the Montmartre funicular, the gardens of the Sacré Cœur and, further off, the whole of Paris, with its lights, its roofs, its shadows. Denise Coudreuse and I had met one day in this maze of roads and boulevards. Paths that cross, among those of thousands and thousands of people all over Paris, like countless little balls on a gigantic, electric billiard table, which occasionally bump into each other. And nothing remained of this, not even the luminous trail a firefly leaves behind it