The memory of the aged becomes clearer and clearer with time. It has no pity. — Andrea Camilleri Copy Share Image
“Montalbano recalled how in now distant times, when the sea withdrew, it would leave behind only sweet-smelling algae and beautiful shells that… — Andrea Camilleri Copy Share Image
“In moments of crisis, all you gotta do is review your multiplication tables, and it’ll all blow over!” — Andrea Camilleri Copy Share Image
“Moltabano, for a moment, felt moved. That astonishing, wholly feminine capacity for deep understanding, for penetrating one's feelings, for being at once… — Andrea Camilleri Copy Share Image
“rosticceria . . . cuddriruni . . . arancini supplì: A rosticceria is a take-out restaurant serving mostly roast meats; cuddriruni is a Sicilian sort of focaccia, served with a… — Andrea Camilleri Copy Share Image
“They ate in religious silence, the corners of their mouths smeared with ricotta cream. Which, the rules say, must be removed with a slow,… — Andrea Camilleri Copy Share Image
“In grammar school he’d had an old priest as his religion teacher. “Truth is light,” the priest had said one day. Montalbano, never very… — Andrea Camilleri Copy Share Image
Wearing glasses for reading meant surrendering to old age without the least bit of a fight. — Andrea Camilleri Copy Share Image
“It meant that, today, to enter any place whatsoever – an airport, a bank, a jeweller’s or watchmaker’s shop – you had to submit… — Andrea Camilleri Copy Share Image
“To distract himself, he formulated a proposition. A philosophical proposition? Maybe, but tending towards "weak thought"--exhausted thought, in fact. He even gave this proposition… — Andrea Camilleri Copy Share Image
“From the pit of his stomach a violent spasm of nausea rose up and seized his throat. He ran to the bathroom, barely able… — Andrea Camilleri Copy Share Image
“Giulio was against our meeting. He didn't want me getting mixed up in things that, in his opinion, were no concern of mine. For… — Andrea Camilleri Copy Share Image
The memory of the aged becomes clearer and clearer with time. It has no pity. — Andrea Camilleri Copy Share Image
“And in our dark days, with so many threatening clouds on the horizon, he concluded, we puff up a story like this to drug… — Andrea Camilleri Copy Share Image
But then why, when talking on the phone, did they quarrel, on average at least once every four sentences? Maybe, though the inspector, it… — Andrea Camilleri Copy Share Image
Montalbano felt moved. This was real friendship, Sicilian friendship, the kind based on intuition, on what was left unsaid. With a true friend, one… — Andrea Camilleri Copy Share Image
