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“Even when she clung to him like this, she felt that the largest part of him was off wandering through some unknown territory all alone. Even in her arms, he was always able to liberate himself from her, to make himself free. She envied him that. Sol was an alien.”
― Izumi Suzuki, Terminal Boredom: Stories

“All these relics gave to the third story of Thornfield Hall the aspect of a home of the past—a shrine of memory. I liked the hush, the gloom, the quaintness of these retreats in the day; but I by no means coveted a night’s repose on one of those wide and heavy beds—shut in, some of them, with doors of oak; shaded, others, with wrought old English hangings, crusted with thick work, portraying effigies of strange flowers, and stranger birds, and strangest human beings—all which would have looked strange, indeed, by the pallid gleam of moonlight.”
― Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre

“Even in this day and age, we still revere truth. But at the same time, we devote ourselves to the task of erasing the distinction between truth and fiction.”
― Izumi Suzuki, Terminal Boredom: Stories

“I, myself, had a very complicated relationship with emptiness, blankness, nothingness. Sometimes I wanted only to fill it, frightened that if I didn’t it would eat me alive or kill me. But sometimes I longed for total annihilation in it—a beautiful, silent erasure. A desire to be vanished.”
― Melissa Broder, The Pisces