1
" ერთ დღესაც, ოჰ, ერთ დღესაც, ყვავი გათეთრდება, ზღვა დაშრება, კაკტუსის ყვავილიდან თაფლს ამოიღებენ, აკაციის ტოტებით საწოლს შეკრავენ, ოჰ, ერთ დღესაც გველს პირში გესლი დაუშრება, თოფების ტყვიები აღარავის მოუსწრაფებენ სიცოცხლეს, რადგან ამ დღეს მე დავტოვებ ჩემს სიყვარულს...
[...]
ოჰ, ერთ დღესაც, ერთ დღესაც, ქარი დედამიწაზე აღარ დაუბერავს, ქვიშის მარცვლები შაქარივით დადნება, გზაზე, ყოველი ქვის ქვეშ წყარო დამელოდება, ერთ დღესაც, ოჰ, ერთ დღესაც, ფუტკრები ჩემთვის ამღერდებიან, რადგან ამ დღეს მე დავტოვებ ჩემს სიყვარულს...
[...]
ერთ დღესაც, ოჰ, ერთ დღესაც, ღამით მზე ამოვა, მთვარის წყალი გუბეებს გააჩენს დედამიწაზე, ცა ვარსკვლავების ოქროს მიმოაბნევს, ერთ დღესაც, ოჰ, ერთ დღესაც, ჩემთვის აცეკვებულ ჩემივე ჩრდილს დავინახავ, რადგან ამ დღეს მე დავტოვებ ჩემს სიყვარულს...
[...]
ერთ დღესაც, ოჰ, ერთ დღესაც, მზე დაბნელდება, დედამიწა შუამდე გაიხსნება, ზღვა ქვიშას გადაფარავს, ერთ დღესაც, ოჰ, ერთ დღესაც თვალის ჩინი გამიქრება, ჩემი პირი ვეღარ წარმოთქვამს შენს სახელს, გულისძგერაც შემიწყდება, რადგან ამ დღეს მე დავტოვებ ჩემს სიყვარულს... "
― J.M.G. Le Clézio , Desert
2
" It was as if there were no names here, as if there were no words. The desert cleansed everything in its wind, wiped everything away. The men had the freedom of the open spaces in their eyes, their skin was like metal. Sunlight blazed everywhere. The ochre, yellow, gray, white sand, the fine sand shifted, showing the direction of the wind. It covered all traces, all bones. It repelled light, drove away water, life, far from a center that no one could recognize. The men knew perfectly well that the desert wanted nothing to do with them: so they walked on without stopping, following the paths that other feet had already traveled in search of something else. "
― J.M.G. Le Clézio , Desert
3
" Out there, in the open desert, men can walk for days without passing a single house, seeing a well, for the desert is so vast that no one can know it all. Men go out into the desert, and they are like ships at sea; no one knows when they will return. Sometimes there are storms, but nothing like here, terrible storms, and the wind tears up the sand and throws it high into the sky, and the men are lost. They die, drowned in the sand, they die lost like ships in a storm, and the sand retains their bodies. Everything is so different in that land; the sun isn't the same as it is here, it burns hotter, and there are men that come back blinded, their faces burned. Nights, the cold makes men who are lost scream out in pain, the cold breaks their bones. Even the men aren't the same as they are here...they are cruel, they stalk their pray like foxes, drawing silently near. They are black, like the Hartani, dressed in blue, faces veiled. They aren't men, but djinns, children of the devil, and they deal with the devil; they are like sorcerers... "
― J.M.G. Le Clézio , Desert
4
" Lalla attend quelque chose. Elle ne sait pas très bien quoi, mais elle attend. Les jours sont longs, à la Cité, les jours de pluie, les jours de vents, les jours de l'été. Quelquefois Lalla croit qu'elle attend seulement que les jours arrivent mais quand ils sont là, elle s'aperçoit que ce n'étaient pas eux. Elle attend, c'est tout. Les gens ont beaucoup de patience, peut-être qu'ils attendent toute leur vie quelque chose, et que jamais rien n'arrive. "
― J.M.G. Le Clézio , Desert
5
" 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
6
" The shadows of the hills and rocks grew long in the valley bottom. But the guide didn’t seem to notice. Sitting very still, his back leaning against the wall of the tomb, he had no sense of the passing day, or hunger, or thirst. He was filled with a different force, from a different time that had made him a stranger to the order of man. Perhaps he was no longer waiting for anything, no longer knew anything, and now he resembled the desert – silence, stillness, absence. "
― J.M.G. Le Clézio , Desert
