★★★★★
“I thought the book would end up on my shelf of sacred texts. I'm afraid it will never get there. It's too restless; it keeps hopping around all over the place, opening and closing its wings, attempting little flights; I find it on my table, my bed, warming itself in my pants, for god's sake, or in my coat when I go for a walk, then down on the floor this morning in a flash of gold until vanished again somehow to end up hiding in the driveway on my wife's dashboard, then back to my work bench and, oops, up to her room until snuck back down in the palm of my hand, the pretty little thing, Ah well, it clearly doesn't like being squeezed in tight up there with the other little darlings. No bookends. Just a quiet palm to palm pressing.”
— Pierre Delattre