Pas sur la Lune

Then he spread the sheet of plastic on the ground and got the coats and blankets from the cart and he took off their damp and muddy shoes and they sat there in silence with their hands outheld to the flames. He tried to think of something  to say but he could not. He’d had this feeling before, beyond the numbness and the dull despair. The world shrinking down about a raw core of parsible entities. The names of things slowly following those things in oblivion. Colors. The name of birds. Things to eat. Finally the names of things one believed to be true. More fragile than he would have thought. How much was gone already? The sacred idiom shorn of its referents and so of its reality. Drawing down like something trying to preserve heat. In time to wink out forever. 

– McCARTHY, Cormac (2006). The Road, New York : Vintage, p. 88. 

Ce billet a été publié le 17 février 2008, 14:48, et rangé dans les catégories suivantes: Apesanteur, Extra-mondanités, Intra-mondanités, Loose subject(s), Lost in space. Vous pouvez suivre les commentaires pour ce billet en vous abonnant à son flux RSS. Both comments and pings are currently closed.