Françoise Mallet-Joris

“I loved the hot summer days and the crickets that seemed to make the air even more oppressive with their cries. I suddenly loved the coolness that came at five o'clock in the narrow streets. I loved the unexpected fine summer rain that fell in the dust and I held out my hands to it. I loved my brand-new happiness of that summer. But above all else, I loved Tamara. Tamara was the short grass, the hill, the white thirsty prairie, the rain and the dust, the coolness, the sunlight. Tamara was the pleasure of the mornings, the prostration of hot noon in the shut room, the delicious sadness of five o'clock, while the fresh breeze from the lake rose toward the windows as the glorious sun set, looking like a ripe, juicy orange.”
― Françoise Mallet-Joris, The Illusionist