‘The wind will shake the dead branches.
The leaves will fall on the hollow stones
and break them into a thousand grains of sand.’

The next morning, the child woke up as bookworm. On discovering him, his mother cried out:
‘I told you so! With all those books of yours, this is what you have become. What are we going to do with you now?’
The father said nothing.

Glasgolia is the search for what we sorely miss,
something which perhaps doesn’t exist anywhere on earth,
yet which we feel we knew a very long time ago,
before losing it for good.

‘Before every high point in your life,
a little red dot will always appear somewhere.
It’s up to you to spot it
and above all grasp its true meaning.’

‘It’s normal that you should be cold, you are made of snow. Being cold is part of your nature.
If you weren’t cold, you wouldn’t be you anymore.’

Je n’avais encore jamais lu un livre comme cela. Les verres de

I had never read a book like that before. My grandfather’s glasses distorted the letters so much that the words took on the shape of animals and fantastic characters.

‘Deep down inside us, memories abound.
Day and night, they come and go, and tickle us.’

The child closes his eyes and sees the one who lost him in the forest appear in the distance: the spirit of the woods.
‘Hello, you called me?’, says the one who loses children in the forest.
‘Yes’, replies the child, ‘I want to know what you are going to do with me now’.

First of all, the water was flat, and the stones were round.
The water was bored, and the stones were having fun. They were tumbling around in the void.

In the Ardennes, it is customary to cut a lock of hair from the deceased and weave it into small figurines which are placed on a windowsill. The hair, reacting to humidity, gives life to the figurines. During family gatherings, the elders use this phenomenon to tell stories.