Philosophical Parsnip

Americana, good books, and the occasional poem

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The rush of cold air from the deserted courtyard, the wisps of straw clinging to Meaulnes’ clothes and above all his appearance—like a weary, hungry but marvelling traveler— all of these gave us a strange feeling of pleasure and curiosity.
Le Grand Meaulnes, Alain-Fournier

Filed under le grand meaulnes alain-fournier lit books travel

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The little birds were fluttering around the hooves of the donkey as it trotted along the white, frosty road. From time to time, breaking the deep peace of a wintry afternoon, came the distant shout of a shepherdess or a boy calling his friend from one copse to another.
Le Grand Meaulnes, Alain-Fournier

Filed under le grand meaulnes lit fiction alain-fournier books french winter