Feb 17, 2018
We sat in silence for most of the rest of the ride. The City of Lights was dark and quiet, with very little foot traffic along the canal. Shops and galleries and museums—bustling in the daylight—loitered in mute shadow, without purpose. Only the occasional gas lamp flickered in the windows. Somewhere, cafés and restaurants throbbed with late-night boisterousness—that infamous Parisian joie de vie—but the park kept the revelry at arm’s length. We trundled along the river, deeper and deeper into the city’s still and contemplative heart. She had known death and resurrection so many times; perhaps it was only in the silence that she knew her own face.
Amelie Andrézel, Mementos of the Fall