Around the midpoint of my rough translation of La Grande Pâque, I just made it through this amazing paragraph (pg 44-45):
The Chevalaret station is also calm. It is the desert, the desert rebuilt in the middle of one of the biggest cities on earth. The silent arches supporting the overhead tracks are like fossils from a vanished civilization. And there are no longer any hotels around. Wait, I see one, barely illuminated in blue. I am suddenly taken by desire – it’s crazy. These desires caused by hunger interrupt my thoughts like blades cutting through straw. Where is the moon? Oh, yes, the boulevard does not really have – uh, yes it does…my footsteps go over it again and suddenly: the noise from the soles of my shoes on the asphalt, and the Chevaleret station, and a clean and normal train that rushes through the nocturnal agora. Two travelers are coming down to lose themselves in a wonderful paradise! A single flat note from a detuned flute comes from the Seine. Quick, return to the Seine and something that resembles geography.