Within that limited circle, each member found in the others the tacit consolation that his own failure was not an isolated fact but a thing shared in greater or lesser measure by them all. That above all was what bound them together, keeping them faithful to their daily meetings...the five felt a complex solidarity that, had it ever been expressed openly, would have been hotly denied by all of them but that might be likened to the huddling together for warmth of solitary creatures.
I've always thought it stupid to try to hide your age, or to pretend to be younger than you are. Denying your age is like denying your life.
You were born too late, Don Jaime...Or perhaps you simply did not die at the right moment.
Actually loneliness has a kind of fascination; it's a state of egotistical, inner grace that you can achieve only by standing guard on old, forgotten roads that no one travels anymore.
[him]It's a beautiful thing to refuse to forget.
[her]...indicating the walls covered with books. "Sometimes I feel as if I were in a cemetary. It's very similar feeling, all symbols and silence."
Perez-Reverte has a great translator, but his writing still simmers with Spanish tropes.
Try his best work, The Dumas Club.
