bree

“Looking at my reflection really did soothe me, though I hated my face with a passion. Such is the life of the self-obsessed.”
― Ottessa Moshfegh, Eileen

“Her dark eyes flashed, two red spots appeared on her pale cheeks. The sullen and squeamish tinge on some of her guests' physiognomies perhaps inflamed her mocking desire still more; perhaps she precisely liked thee cynicism and cruelty of the idea.”
― Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Idiot

“And what are you thinking about now?' 'About how you get up from your place, go past me, and I look at you and I watch you; your dress rustles, and my heart sinks, and if you leave the room, I remember every little word you've said, and in what voice, and what it was; and this whole night I wasn't thinking about anything, but I kept listening to how you breathed in your sleep, and how you stirred a couple of times . . .”
― Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Idiot

“Picasso was right to start painting the dreary and dejected. The blues. He looked out the window at his own misery. I could respect that. But these painters of fruit thought only of their own mortality, as though the beauty of their work would somehow soothe their fear of death. There they all were, hanging feckless and candid and meaningless, paintings of things, objects, the paintings themselves just things, objects, withering toward their own inevitable demise.”
― Ottessa Moshfegh, My Year of Rest and Relaxation