" The wind gusts through the narrow street, plastering the women's clothes against their bodies, ruffling their hair. There is so much hate and despair in the street, as if it kept drifting endlessly down through the different degrees of hell, without ever reaching the bottom, without ever stopping. There is so much hunger, unsatisfied desire, violence. The silent men look on, standing motionless on the curb like lead soldiers, their eyes glued to the women's abdomens, to their breasts, to the curve of their hips, to the pale flesh of their throats, to their bare legs. Perhaps there is no love anywhere, no pity, no gentleness. Perhaps the white veil separating the earth from the sky has smothered all men, stopping the palpitations of their hearts, made all of their memories, all of their old deisres, all of the beauty die? "

― J.M.G. Le Clézio , Desert