Piranesi

by Susanna Clarke

Not everything about the Wind was bad. Sometimes it blew through the little voids and crevices of the Statues and caused them to sing and whistle in surprising ways; I had never known the Statues to have voices before and it made me laugh for sheer delight.

The House is valuable because it is the House. It is enough in and of Itself. It is not the means to an end.

‘You don’t think of yourself as Matthew Rose Sorensen?’ ‘No,’ I said. ‘But you have his face,’ she said. ‘Yes.’ ‘And his hands.’ ‘Yes.’ ‘And his feet and his body.’ ‘All that is true. But I haven’t got his mind and I haven’t got his memories. I don’t mean that he’s not here. He is here.’ I touched my breast. ‘But I think he’s asleep. He’s fine. You mustn’t worry about him.’