Elsa Quotes

Elsa decides that even if people she likes have been shits on earlier occasions, she has to learn to carry on liking them. You’d quickly run out of people if you had to disqualify all those who at some point have been shits.

People have to tell their stories, Elsa. Or they suffocate.

A good cook is like a sorceress who dispenses happiness.

It’s hard to help those who don’t want to help themselves.” “Someone who wants to help himself is possibly not the one who most needs help from others,” Elsa objects.

Don't worry about dying, Elsa. Worry about not living. Be brave." - Grandpa Wolcott

Everything is complicated if no one explains it to you.

I don't remember my dreams,' I tell the boy with grey eyes. He pinches my cheek. 'I'll dream for the both of us.' 'Promise?' 'Promise, Elsa

Elsa is the sort of child who learned early in life that it's easier to make your way if you get to choose your own soundtrack.

My Elsa. She’s mine. Fucking mine. And no one will change that. Not even her.

Elsa knew that a library card—a thing they’d taken for granted all of their lives—meant there was still a future.

He places a finger under my chin and lifts so I’m facing him. “You don’t have to be ashamed of who you are with me, Elsa. You can be a fucking lunatic, and I still won’t let you go.

There was a pain that came with constant disapproval; a sense of having lost something unnamed, unknown. Elsa had survived it by being quiet, by not demanding or seeking attention, by accepting that she was loved, but unliked.

Jean reached over for Elsa’s hand and held it. Elsa hadn’t known until right then how much difference a friend could make. How one person could lift your spirit just enough to keep you upright.

Granny and Elsa used to watch the evening news together. Now and then Elsa would ask Granny why grown-ups were always doing such idiotic things to each other. Granny usually answered that it was because grown-ups were generally people, and people are generally shits. Elsa countered that grown-ups were also responsible for a lot of good things in between all the idiocy – space exploration, the UN, vaccines and cheese slicers, for instance. Granny then said the real trick of life was that almost no one is entirely a shit and almost no one is entirely not a shit. The hard part of life is keeping as much on the ‘not-a-shit’ side as one can.

Granny was the sort of person you brought with you when you went to war, and that was what Elsa loved about her.

Elsa's joke Where do baby apes sleep? In apricots!

And then he pushed Elsa into a radiator. And then Elsa hit him with a book. Elsa still thinks he should thank her for it, because that’s probably the nearest that boy ever got to a book.

Langdon watched the phone plummet down and splash into the dark waters of the Nervión River. As it disappeared beneath the surface, he felt a pang of loss, staring back after it as the boat raced on. “Robert,” Ambra whispered, “just remember the wise words of Disney’s Princess Elsa.” Langdon turned. “I’m sorry?” Ambra smiled softly. “Let it go.

There are no photos here, as there were in the woman’s flat. Only books. “You got any good ones, then?” she asks, scanning the shelves. “I don’t know what you think is good,” the woman answers carefully. “Do you have any Harry Potters?” “No.” “Not even one?” Elsa asks, incredulous. “No.” “You have all these books and not a single Harry Potter? And they let you fix people whose heads are broken?

Quelli come te, che hanno due sangui diversi nelle vene, non trovano mai riposo né contentezza; e mentre sono là, vorrebbero trovarsi qua, e appena tornati qua, subito hanno voglia di scappar via. Tu te ne andrai da un luogo all’altro, come se fuggissi di prigione, o corressi in cerca di qualcuno; ma in realtà inseguirai soltanto le sorti diverse che si mischiano nel tuo sangue, perché il tuo sangue è come un animale doppio, è come un cavallo grifone, come una sirena. E potrai anche trovare qualche compagnia di tuo gusto, fra tanta gente che s’incontra al mondo; però, molto spesso, te ne starai solo. Un sangue-misto di rado si trova contento in compagnia: c’è sempre qualcosa che gli fa ombra, ma in realtà è lui che si fa ombra da se stesso, come il ladro e il tesoro, che si fanno ombra uno con l’altro.

To quote the most famous lesbian of all time, Elsa of Arendelle, “The past is in the past.

I don’t like attention, and it’s not because I prefer staying under the radar like Elsa, but because attention is kind of stupid. What do you do with attention? You can’t even eat it.

Aiden...Oh, my God, Aiden!!" " I Love The Idea Of Being Your God.

Elsa said, "You saved me, you know." "Mothers and daughters. We save each other, si?

...Elsa had grown conscious of the fact that the girl hadn't read Harry Potter at all. She knew who he was, of course, everyone knows who Harry Potter is, but she hadn't read the books....And while Elsa didn't want to be elitist or anything, how could one be expected to reason with a person like that? Muggles.

I couldn’t care less about families clashing. I’ve already taken a side and it’s Elsa’s.

Un sangue-misto di rado si trova contento in compagnia: c'è sempre qualcosa che gli fa ombra , ma in realtà è lui che si fa ombra da se stesso, come il ladro e il tesoro, che si fanno ombra uno con l'altro

Because when you love someone very much, it's difficult to learn to share her with someone else.

I don’t want Elsa to know that I am going to die because all seven-year-olds deserve superheroes, Marcel. And one of their superpowers ought to be that they can’t get cancer.

It’s easier to get people talking about things they dislike than things they like, Elsa has noticed. And it’s easier not to get frightened of shadows in the dark

Robert,” Ambra whispered, “just remember the wise words of Disney’s Princess Elsa.” Langdon turned. “I’m sorry?” Ambra smiled softly. “Let it go.

Elsa hadn’t known until right then how much difference a friend could make. How one person could lift your spirit just enough to keep you upright.

So many hearts broke the day Elsa was born. Shattered with such force by the wave that the shards of the glass were dispersed all around the world. Improbable catastrophes produce improbable things in people, improbable sorrow and improbable heroism.

But Miamas is Granny and Elsa’s favorite kingdom, because there storytelling is considered the noblest profession of all. The currency there is imagination; instead of buying something with coins, you buy it with a good story. Libraries aren’t known as libraries but as “banks,” and every fairy tale is worth a fortune.

It's possible to love your grandmother for years and years without really knowing anything about her.

I didn’t want you to remember this day because of the scarf. So I thought instead you could remember it as the day your Granny broke into a zoo—” “And escaped from a hospital,” Elsa says with a grin. “And escaped from a hospital,” says Granny with a grin. “And threw turds at the police.” “Actually, it was soil! Or mainly soil, anyway.” “Changing memories is a good superpower, I suppose.” Granny shrugs. “If you can’t get rid of the bad, you have to top it up with more goody stuff.

Many men admire strong women but they don't love them. Some women succeed at being strong and also tender, but most of those who have intended to walk alone, making their own way, have lost their happiness.

‎God remains silent so that men and women may speak, protest, and struggle. God remains silent so that people may really become people. When God is silent and men and women cry, God cries in solidarity with them but doesn't intervene. God waits for the shouts of protest.

It’s stupid, really. She should’ve learnt by now that nothing — absolutely nothing — will keep me away from her. Elsa can wear armour, and I’ll stab straight through it. Hell, she can hide behind a fort, and I’ll bring the whole fucking thing down.

You don’t have to be ashamed of who you are with me, Elsa. You can be a fucking lunatic, and I still won’t let you go.

Mum puts her hand on Elsa's hand, and inhales deeply from the point where they are touching, as if trying to fill her lungs with Elsa. As mums do with daughters who grow up too fast.

Sometimes I think I'd like someone to kill him." Alf doesn't answer. Elsa looks at the hammer. "I mean... sort of kill, anyway. I know one shouldn't think people deserve to die. But sometimes I'm not sure people like him deserve to live..." Alf leans against the balcony railing. "It's human." "Is it human to want people to die?" Alf shakes his head calmly. "It's human not to be sure.

that if you hate the one who hates, you could risk becoming like the one you hate.’ Elsa’s shoulders shoot up to her ears. ‘Granny always said: “Don’t kick the shit, it’ll go all over the place!

Man, by his very nature, tends to give himself an explanation of the world into which he is born. And this is what distinguishes him from the other species. Every individual, even the least intelligent, the lowest of outcasts, from childhood on gives himself some explanation of the world. And with it he manages to live. And without it, he would sink into madness.

Elsa heard one of the doctors at Mum’s hospital saying that Granny “could start a fight in an empty room,” but when Elsa told Granny she just looked miffed and said, “What if it was the room that started it?

But Granny was the sort of person you brought with you when you went to war, and that was what Elsa loved about her.

I am sure I have been cursed with the Elsa of vaginas. I may thaw out a bit, get worked up, but when it came right down to it. I was—frozen.

laugh at yourself first, before anyone else can

Although the release was heartbreaking for the Adamsons, they were mindful that she had been born free.

He is wearing a rugby shirt with numbers and a little man on a horse on his chest. Kent has told Elsa that this sort of shirt costs more than a thousand kronor, and Granny always used to say that those sorts of shirts were a good thing, because the horse functioned as a sort of manufacturer’s warning that the shirt was highly likely to be transporting a muppet.

It was a sunny day, and Einstein merrily played with the telescope’s dials and instruments. Elsa came along as well, and it was explained to her that the equipment was used to determine the scope and shape of the universe. She reportedly replied, “Well, my husband does that on the back of an old envelope.

Elsa sobs as she unfolds it, the way one sobs when the tears have run out but not the crying.

Don't worry about dying, Elsa. Worry about not living. Be brave.

Mum is a perfectionist and Dad is a pedant and that was partly why their marriage didn't work so well, Elsa figures. Because a perfectionist and a pedant are two very different things.

L'amore vero è così: non ha nessuno scopo e nessuna ragione, e non si sottomette a nessun potere fuorché alla grazia umana.

There hasn’t been a day where I haven’t thought about you. Every time I manage to sleep, I dream of you. You were my obsession since we were kids, but now it’s way fucking worse. I don’t know how I managed to spend eight years without you in my life when now I suffocate if I don’t see you for hours.” My eyes fill with tears. “Aiden…” “Choose me, Elsa. Choose us.

Ah, Elsa. You got a wrong picture of yourself. Even if that is true, what does a person do about it? The things your parents say and the things your husband doesn't say become a mirror, don't they? You see yourself as they see you. and no mater how far you come, you bring that mirror with you. Break it, Jean said. How? With a gosh dang rock. Jean leaned forward. I'm a mirror too, Elsa. You remember that.

Then the boy shouted that Elsa couldn't be Spider-Man because 'only boys can be Spider-Man!' And then Elsa told him he could be Spider-Man's girlfriend. And then he pushed Elsa into a radiator. And then Elsa hit him with a book. Elsa still thinks he should thank her for it, because that's probably the nearest that boy ever got to a book.

Let it go.

E così in eterno ogni perla del mare ricopia la prima perla, e ogni rosa ricopia la prima rosa

Così dunque la vita é rimasta un mistero. E io stesso, per me, sono ancora il primo mistero.

Granny says they're soft in the head, but Elsa just thinks they're nice. And they always have dreams and hugs - dreams are a kind of biscuit; hugs are just normal hugs.

It was nearly a week before we returned. We found her waiting, and very hungry. She was full of affection; we had deceived her so often, broken faith with her, done so much to destroy her trust in us, yet she remained loyal.

A few days go by. Maybe a few weeks. But after that, one by one, other different children start tagging along with Alex and Elsa in the playground and corridors. Until there are so many of them that no one dares to chase them anymore. Until they’re an army in themselves. Because if a sufficient number of people are different, no one has to be normal.

It’s snowing again, and Elsa decides that even if people she likes have been shits on earlier occasions, she has to learn to carry on liking them. You’d quickly run out of people if you had to disqualify all those who at some point have been shits. She thinks that this will have to be the moral of this story. Christmas stories are supposed to have morals.

After Elsa’s death, Einstein established a routine that as the years passed varied less and less. Breakfast between 9 and 10 was followed by a walk to the institute. After working until 1pm he would return home for lunch and a nap. Afterwards he would work in his study until dinner between 6.30 and 7pm. If not entertaining guests, he would return to work until he went to bed between 11 and 12. He rarely went to the theatre or to a concert, and unlike Bohr, hardly ever watched a movie. He was, Einstein said in 1936, ‘living in the kind of solitude that is painful in one’s youth but in one’s more mature years is delicious’.

You’re not the one proposing, I am.” I groan, pulling her and the stupid bucket into me. “I’m going to fucking marry you, Elsa. You’ll be my wife. My family. My fucking home.” She nods several times, tears shining in her eyes. “You’ll be my home, too, Aiden. Always.

The site of his thinking and writing was a small office wedged in one corner of his shaggy house, on whose door he’d installed a lock to keep his sons out. They gathered wistfully outside it, his boys, with their chipped, heartbreaking faces. They were not permitted to so much as knock upon the door to the room in which he thought and wrote about art, but Ted hadn’t found a way to keep them from prowling outside it, ghostly feral creatures drinking from a pond in moonlight, their bare feet digging at the carpet, their fingers sweating on the walls, leaving spoors of grease that Ted would point out each week to Elsa, the cleaning woman. He would sit in his office, listening to the movements of his boys, imagining that he felt their hot, curious breath. I will not let them in, he would tell himself. I will sit and think about art. But he found, to his despair, that often he couldn’t think about art. He thought about nothing at all.

Lucille,” Norma Jean whispered loud enough for me to hear from my foliage hideout. She leaned over her walker and adjusted her glasses. “Is that Willis Harvey up front by Elsa?” “Well, pinch my pooch, I believe it is,” Lucille said. “I barely recognize him with his clothes on.

As the story goes, Albert Einstein’s wife Elsa remarked, upon hearing that a telescope at the Mount Wilson Observatory was needed to determine the shape of space-time: “Oh, my husband does this on the back of an old envelope.

Nothing spoils a good party like a genius.

It takes more than a printed notice to keep you from reality. . . . We've only one life to live.

She can endure pain and loss without any trouble, but she doesn't know how to react facing happiness.

Elsa learned all about LPs and CDs that afternoon. That was when she worked out why old people seem to have so much free time, because in the olden days until Spotify came along they must have used up almost all their time just changing the track. She

Elsa felt a deeply rooted shame in her daughter’s rejection. In her hurt, she did what she’d always done: she disappeared. But all the while, she waited, prayed, that both her husband and her daughter would someday see how much she loved them and they would love her in return. Until then, she dared not push too hard or demand too much.

You’re strong, so don’t believe otherwise. You’re loved, so don’t let that bitch Jeanine tell you any different, and don’t be shy to lean on Calvin, Elsa, and Kirian. Don’t hesitate to ask for help when you need it. They care about you more than you know.” No. “Instead of dancing alone, dance with others. Instead of living alone, lean on others. Instead of purging the pain, talk about it.” No. “Live well.

Once Elsa asked why so many not-shits had to die everywhere, and why so many shits didn't. And why anyone at all had to die, whether a shit or not...Granny admitted that she supposed something always had to give up its own space so that something else could take its place. "Like when we're on the bus and some old people get on?" asked Elsa.

Ma no, anche l’estate, invece, sarebbe tornata immancabilmente, uguale al solito. Non la si può uccidere, essa è un drago invulnerabile che sempre rinasce, con la sua fanciullezza meravigliosa. Ed era un’orrida gelosia che mi amareggiava, questa: di pensare all’isola di nuovo infuocata dall’estate, senza di me!

Women dress alike all over the world: they dress to be annoying to other women.

You say I am mysterious. Let me explain myself: In a land of oranges I am faithful to apples.

Dunque, pare che alle anime viventi possano toccare due sorti: c'è chi nasce ape, e chi nasce rosa... Che fa lo sciame delle api, con la sua regina? Va, e ruba a tutte le rose un poco di miele, per portarselo nell'arnia, nelle sue stanzette. E la rosa? La rosa l'ha in se stessa, il proprio miele: miele di rose, il più adorato, il più prezioso! La cosa più dolce che innamora essa l'ha già in se stessa: non le serve cercarla altrove. Ma qualche volta sospirano di solitudine, le rose, questi esseri divini! Le rose ignoranti non capiscono i propri misteri. La prima di tutte le rose è Dio. Fra le due: la rosa e l'ape, secondo me, la più fortunata è l'ape. E l'Ape Regina, poi, ha una fortuna sovrana! Io, per esempio, sono nato Ape Regina. E tu, Wilhelm? Secondo me, tu, Wilhelm mio, sei nato col destino più dolce e col destino più amaro: tu sei l'ape e sei la rosa.

So much of the news was invented for propaganda.

The universal villains, heroes, and clowns have no power if no one recognises them.

Your intestines have such a beautiful color to them.

Ambassadors. Trade. Diplomacy. These subjects make me feel that I have fallen into a swamp and am breathing mud. I will go to the mansion and eavesdrop on the servants.

La peggiore violenza contro l’uomo è la degradazione dell’intelletto.

Dad has a word jar, where Elsa puts difficult words she has learned, like “concise” and “pretentious,” or complex phrases like “My fridge is a taco sauce graveyard.” And every time the jar is full she gets a gift voucher for a book to download on the iPad. The word jar has financed the entire Harry Potter series for her, although she knows Dad is ridiculously dubious about Harry Potter because Dad can’t get his head around a story unless it’s based on reality.

The old Elsa would’ve watched me with a wild gaze. She would’ve had a battle in those electric blue eyes about whether to fight or to save her energy. Not this Elsa. She doesn’t flinch. She just remains as immovable as a statue. A cold, frigid statue. This isn’t my Elsa. And if I have to break the statue to bring her out, then so be it. She stares up at me with dim eyes. “We’re enemies, aren’t we?” “Maybe.” “Then we’re over,” she says with more strength than needed. I push a stray blonde strand behind her ear, taking my time to feel the warmth of her skin against mine. “That’s where you’re wrong, sweetheart,” I murmur near her mouth, “Being enemies doesn’t change the fact that you’re fucking mine.

It is a truth universally unacknowledged that you could become disabled at any point in your life. No matter how perfectly your limbs, eyes, ears, and whatever else works, it could all change in an instant.

A snowball formed between her palms, surrounded by a blue glow. "Ready?" she asked, feeling the rush she got when she was about to use magic. She threw her hands up and flung the snowball high into the air. Snow started to fall from the ceiling, washing the floor in a blanket of white. "This is amazing!" Anna marveled, her giggles of joy filling Elsa with pride. Anna, more than anyone else, loved Elsa's gift, and she begged her to use it often. Their parents, on the other hand, wanted her to keep it private. But if a gift like this could bring such joy, shouldn't she share it?

Why is it the business of the nondisabled to determine what it means to be blind, or the business of the hearing to determine what it means to be deaf? Why are people who don't use wheelchairs policing the visual of a wheelchair user?

When I joined her a few moments later, she licked my arm, embraced me with her paw and hugged me to her wet body. We relaxed after the morning’s excitement. I felt very touched by her gentleness and the care with which she treated my skin and avoided scratching me with claws that only a few minutes ago had been so deadly to the thick skin of a powerful buffalo.

Elsa decides they should begin by taking the bus, like normal knights on normal quests in more or less normal fairytales when there aren’t any horses or cloud animals available. But when all the other people at the bus stop starts eyeing The Monster and the wurse and nervously shuffling as far away from them as it’s possible to be without ending up at the next bus stop, she realises it’s not going to be quite so straightforward. On boarding the bus it becomes immediately clear that wurses are not at all partial to travelling on public transport. After it had snuffled about and stepped on people’s toes and overturned bags with its tail and accidently dribbled a bit on a seat a little too close to The Monster for The Monster to feel entirely comfortable, Elsa decides to forget the whole thing, and then all three of them get off. Exactly one stop later

And in an apartment on the other side of town, everyone wakes up with a start when the hound in the first-floor flat, without any warning, starts howling. Louder and more heartrendingly than anything they have ever heard coming out of the primal depths of any animal. As if it is singing with the sorrow and yearning of an eternity of ten thousand fairy tales. It howls for hours, all through the night, until dawn. And when the morning light seeps into the hospital room, Elsa wakes up in Granny's arms. But Granny is still in Miamas.

Se lui avesse potuto dire il suo nome ancora una volta, a voce così bassa da poterla sentire invece che ascoltarla.Se lo avesse fatto, così piano da non permettere alla veglia di ricordarle perché quel suono non poteva più renderla felice.Se solo non avesse mai smesso di piovere.Eloise, sei sveglia?Sì, e non voglio.Sotto la mano il cuscino era fresco e morbido, negli spazi tra le sue dita se ne insinuavano altre, calde e dure perché abituate a riempire di lusinghe l'elsa di una spada, non solo la pelle di una donna. Prendeva la sua una mano fatta per accarezzare e per uccidere.Una mano che l'aveva accarezzata, e poi uccisa.«Axel».Forse c'era stato uno scatto di esultanza profonda, perché ridestandosi aveva pronunciato per prima cosa il suo nome.Qualcosa che aveva a che fare col possesso e il riconoscimento.Qualcosa di così profondo che, se non si fosse opposta, avrebbe finito per precipitarvi dentro.Qualcosa che tra loro due era sempre esistito.L'aveva accarezzata.A quanto le avevano raccontato, lui era stata la prima cosa del mondo su cui aveva aperto gli occhi. Un fagottino di neonata, avvolta tra le braccia di un bambinetto di tre anni appena, che sollevava di colpo le palpebre incontrando per la prima volta due occhi blu pieni di amore e trionfo fissi su di lei.E poi uccisa.Una cicatrice che si risvegliava pulsando, lo spettro di dolore di un arto amputato, che esisteva solo nel ricordo dei nervi e bruciava, bruciava come fuoco.Lui era sete, tanta da accettare di annegare pur di riuscire a bere.«Axel».«Sono qui».

He imagined then that the shifting clouds contained thousands of years, and that he had seen the same tree in two different times. What if every moment of that tree's existence, the whole of its past and its future, existed at once, here in this blank and infinite cloud? An eerie suggestion of his own insubstantiality pulled at him. He, too, was inside the void.

Tutti sarebbero belli, liberi e spensierati, e amarsi vorrebbe dire soltanto: rivelarsi, l'uno all'altro, quanto si è belli. L'amore sarebbe una delizia disinteressata, una gloria perfetta: come guardarsi allo specchio; sarebbe... una cattiveria naturale e senza rimorso, come una caccia meravigliosa in un bosco reale. L'amore vero è così: non ha nessuno scopo e nessuna ragione, e non si sottomette a nessun potere fuorché alla grazia umana.

How strange and unnatural destiny is. I married a man eight years younger than myself, and according to the law of nature I should have been the first to die, with Him at my side. Instead, it was my destiny to witness His death.' In speaking of Giuseppe, she always wrote Him, with a capital letter. Her style was prolix, repetitive, but with a certain academic nobility; and her handwriting was elongated, fine, even elegant. (However, in her final decline, her letters grew shorter and her written words, all shaky and twisted, groped across the page, uncertain of their direction.)

L'Amour qui n'est pas un mot Mon Dieu jusqu'au dernier moment Avec ce coeur débile et blême Quand on est l'ombre de soi-même Comment se pourrait-il comment Comment se pourrait-il qu'on aime Ou comment nommer ce tourment Suffit-il donc que tu paraisses De l'air que te fait rattachant Tes cheveux ce geste touchant Que je renaisse et reconnaisse Un monde habité par le chant Elsa mon amour ma jeunesse O forte et douce comme un vin Pareille au soleil des fenêtres Tu me rends la caresse d'être Tu me rends la soif et la faim De vivre encore et de connaître Notre histoire jusqu'à la fin C'est miracle que d'être ensemble Que la lumière sur ta joue Qu'autour de toi le vent se joue Toujours si je te vois je tremble Comme à son premier rendez-vous Un jeune homme qui me ressemble M'habituer m'habituer Si je ne le puis qu'on m'en blâme Peut-on s'habituer aux flammes Elles vous ont avant tué Ah crevez-moi les yeux de l'âme S'ils s'habituaient aux nuées Pour la première fois ta bouche Pour la première fois ta voix D'une aile à la cime des bois L'arbre frémit jusqu'à la souche C'est toujours la première fois Quand ta robe en passant me touche Prends ce fruit lourd et palpitant Jettes-en la moitié véreuse Tu peux mordre la part heureuse Trente ans perdus et puis trente ans Au moins que ta morsure creuse C'est ma vie et je te la tends Ma vie en vérité commence Le jour que je t'ai rencontrée Toi dont les bras ont su barrer Sa route atroce à ma démence Et qui m'as montré la contrée Que la bonté seule ensemence Tu vins au coeur du désarroi Pour chasser les mauvaises fièvres Et j'ai flambé comme un genièvre A la Noël entre tes doigts Je suis né vraiment de ta lèvre Ma vie est à partir de toi

And suddenly I knew, as I touched the damp, grainy surface of the seawall, that I would always remember this night, that in years to come I would remember sitting here, swept with confused longing as I listened to the water lapping the giant boulders beneath the promenade and watched the children head toward the shore in a winding, lambent procession. I wanted to come back tomorrow night, and the night after, and the one after that as well, sensing that what made leaving so fiercely painful was the knowledge that there would never be another night like this, that I would never eat soggy cakes along the coast road in the evening, not this year or any other year, nor feel the baffling, sudden beauty of that moment when, if only for an instant, I had caught myself longing for a city I never knew I loved. Exactly a year from now, I vowed, I would sit outside at night wherever I was, somewhere in Europe, or in America, and turn my face to Egypt, as Moslems do when they pray and face Mecca, and remember this very night, and how I had thought these things and made this vow. You're beginning to sound like Elsa and her silly seders, I said to myself, mimicking my father's humour. On my way home I thought of what the others were doing. I wanted to walk in, find the smaller living room still lit, the Beethoven still playing, with Abdou still cleaning the dining room, and, on closing the front door, suddenly hear someone say, "We were just waiting for you, we're thinking of going to the Royal." "But we've already seen that film," I would say. "What difference does it make. We'll see it again." And before we had time to argue, we would all rush downstairs, where my father would be waiting in a car that was no longer really ours, and, feeling the slight chill of a late April night, would huddle together with the windows shut, bicker as usual about who got to sit where, rub our hands, turn the radio to a French broadcast, and then speed to the Corniche, thinking that all this was as it always was, that nothing ever really changed, that the people enjoying their first stroll on the Corniche after fasting, or the woman selling tickets at the Royal, or the man who would watch our car in the side alley outside the theatre, or our neighbours across the hall, or the drizzle that was sure to greet us after the movie at midnight would never, ever know, nor even guess, that this was our last night in Alexandria.