Jada

“On an impulse he switched out the light on his desk and sat in the hot darkness of his office; the cold air filled his lungs, and he leaned toward the open window. He heard the silence of the winter night, and it seemed to him that he somehow felt the sounds that were absorbed by the delicate and intricately cellular being of the snow. Nothing moved upon the whiteness; it was a dead scene, which seemed to pull at him, to suck at his consciousness just as it pulled the sound from the air and buried it within a cold white softness. He felt himself pulled outward toward the whiteness, which spread as far as he could see, and which was a part of the darkness from which it glowed, of the clear and cloudless sky without height or depth. For an instant he felt himself go out of the body that sat motionless before the window; and as he felt himself slip away, everything—the flat whiteness, the trees, the tall columns, the night, the far stars—seemed incredibly tiny and far away, as if they were dwindling to a nothingness.”
― John Williams, Stoner

“Melancholy is a term I learned about in my reading and I’ve discovered it can be wildly addictive to nurse one’s own melancholy, needless to say.”
― Gabe Habash, Stephen Florida: A Novel

“How does a man decide in what order to abandon his life?”
― Cormac McCarthy, No Country for Old Men

“I could hear her voice and take delight in the things she used to say, in her laugh, in her responsiveness to everything beautiful. For Joana had the gift of always seeing the beauty which exists beside the terrible, unending ugliness that destroys and annihilates—a gift which very few possess, but which she possessed to a higher degree than anyone I have known in my whole life.”
― Thomas Bernhard, Woodcutters: A Novel