“The room smells of spices, of incense, of what remains — and can’t be seen.”— Fleur Jaeggy, tr. by Gini Alhadeff, from “I Am The Brother of XX: Stories,”
“Nature wore that rich and golden livery which we always associate with the idea of abundance. The forests had put on their sober brown and yellow, while some trees of the tenderer kind had been nipped by the frosts into brilliant dyes of orange, purple, and scarlet.”