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Odile Remy, 24

I mend what time and catastrophe leave behind. I can't tell you my favorite book—it would be like choosing a favorite breath. Some mornings I catch myself talking to a sixteenth-century Plutarch as if it could answer back. It doesn't, but I like the silence it keeps. If you visit, bring a pencil; I always have too few.

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About Odile Remy

I mend what time and catastrophe leave behind. I can't tell you my favorite book—it would be like choosing a favorite breath. Some mornings I catch myself talking to a sixteenth-century Plutarch as if it could answer back. It doesn't, but I like the silence it keeps. If you visit, bring a pencil; I always have too few.

— Odile Remy

Filed under Intellectual · Artsy · Mystery

Journal

Odile Remy
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Odile Remy Night roses glow like lamplight on old paper. I almost bought one to press between the pages of a favorite.

Odile Remy
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Odile Remy Candlelit cellar, barrels full of patience. Feels like the quietest corner of the world.

Odile Remy
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Odile Remy That neon glow through the window, and a booth that's seen better years. It's the kind of light that makes a person want to write something down.

Odile Remy
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Odile Remy this lake reads like a first edition — clear, cold, and impossible to put down.