Greeted as "an amazement of riches ... few readers will be able to resist" by The New York Times, Chocolat is an enchanting novel about a small French town turned upside down by the arrival of a bewitching chocolate confectioner, Vianne Rocher, and her spirited young daughter.
A woman named Vianne moves into the small French village of Lansquenet-sous-Tannes, and opens a chocolaterie. During Lent, when the villagers are expected by Françoise Reynaud, the village curate, to abstain from the pleasures of the flesh, they find that they are tempted by Vianne's... read more (warning: may contain spoilers)
“Happiness. Simple as a glass of chocolate or tortuous as the heart. Bitter. Sweet. Alive.”
“Life is what you celebrate. All of it. Even its end.”
“"Death should be a celebration. Like a birthday. I want to go up like a rocket when my time comes, and fall down in a cloud of stars, and hear everyone go: ahh!"”Vianne Rocher
“"Places have their own characters. . . . But the people begin to look the same."”Vianne Rocher
“"The wind always brings us back to the same wall"”
“Life is what you celebrate. All of it. Even its end.”Highlighted by 17 Kindle customers
“I believe that being happy is the only important thing,” I told him at last. Happiness. Simple as a glass of chocolate or tortuous as the heart. Bitter. Sweet. Alive.Highlighted by 15 Kindle customers
I sell dreams, small comforts, sweet harmless temptations to bring down a multitude of saints crash-crash-crashing among the hazels and nougatines. . . .Highlighted by 13 Kindle customers
At six it is possible to perceive subtleties that a year later are already out of reach.Highlighted by 11 Kindle customers
This is an art I can enjoy. There is a kind of sorcery in all cooking; in the choosing of ingredients, the process of mixing, grating, melting, infusing, and flavoring, the recipes taken from ancient books, the traditional utensils—the pestle and mortar with which my mother madeHighlighted by 10 Kindle customers
Children are born wild, I know. The best I can hope for is a little tenderness, a seeming docility. Beneath the surface the wildness remains, stark, savage, and alien.Highlighted by 10 Kindle customers
Like a flower she grows toward the light, without thinking or examining the process that moves her to do so. I wish I could do the same.Highlighted by 9 Kindle customers
As an antidote I read Jung and Herman Hesse and learned about the collective unconscious. Divination is a means of telling ourselves what we already know. What we fear. There are no demons, but a collection of archetypes every civilization has in common. The fear of loss—Death. The fear of displacement—the Tower. The fear of transience—the Chariot.Highlighted by 9 Kindle customers
The smell is like daylight trapped for years until it has gone sour and rancid, of mouse droppings and the ghosts of things unremembered and unmourned.Highlighted by 7 Kindle customers
She has her own Black Man. I can see him in her eyes. He has the unanswerable voice of authority, a specious logic that keeps you frozen, obedient, fearful. To break free from that fear, to run in hope and despair, to run and to find that all the time you were carrying him inside yourself like a malignant child . . .Highlighted by 5 Kindle customers
Followed by Blackberry Wine.
Preceded by Birdsong, and followed by The Search.
Followed by The Lollipop Shoes.
Followed by The Return of the Naked Chef.
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