Patrick Suskind

Perfume. THE STORY OF A MURDERER

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  • Lunahar citeretsidste måned
    When they finally did dare it, at first with stolen glances and then candid ones, they had to smile. They were uncommonly proud. For the first time they had done something out of Love.
  • Lunahar citeretsidste måned
    maybe what I felt that day is like what the people on the parade grounds felt when I flooded them with my perfume…? But then he cast the thought aside: no, it was something else. Because I knew that I desired the scent, not the girl. But those people believed that they desired me, and what they really desired remained a mystery to them.
  • Lunahar citeretsidste måned
    was already in Burgundy: when I was standing there at the wall below the garden where the red-headed girl was playing
  • Lunahar citeretsidste måned
    They loved him.
  • Lunahar citeretsidste måned
    She is dead, he thought. Then, more terrifying still: someone else has got to her before me. Someone else has plucked my flower and taken its odour for himself!
  • Lunahar citeretsidste måned
    Because he was in the position to put himself inside the mind of the would-be murderer of his daughter,
  • Lunahar citeretsidste måned
    he had renounced things all his life. But never once had he possessed and lost.
  • Lunahar citeretsidste måned
    True, he did not love another human being, certainly not the girl who lived in the house beyond the wall. He loved her scent — that alone, nothing else, and only inasmuch as it would one day be his alone. He would bring it home within the year, he swore it by his very life.
  • Lunahar citeretsidste måned
    Grenouille, the solitary tick, the abomination, Grenouille the Monster, who had never felt love and would never be able to inspire it, stood there beside the city wall of Grasse on that day in March and loved and was profoundly happy in his love.
  • Lunahar citeretsidste måned
    People left him alone. And that was all he wanted.
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