Mia

“Det var en Foraarsaften, Solen skinnede saa rød ind i Stuen, den var lige ved at gaa ned. Vingerne af Møllen deroppe paa Volden drev deres Skygger over Ruderne og Værelsets Vægge, kommende, svindende, i ensformig Veklsen af Skumring og Lys: - een stund Skumring, to Stunder Lys.

Ved Vinduet sad Niels Lyhne og stirred gjennem Voldens bronzemørke Ælme mod Skyernes Brand. Han havde været udenfor Byen, under nyudsprungne Bøge, mellem grønne Rugmarker, over blomsterbrogede Enge; Alting havde været saa lyst og let, Himlen saa blaa, Sundet saa blankt og de spadserende Damer saa sælsomt smukke. Syngende var han gaaet henad Skovstien, saa blev Ordene borte i hans Sang, saa lagde Rhytmen sig, saa døde Tonerne bort og Stilheden kom som en Svimmelhed over ham. Han lukkede Øjnene, men endda mærkede han, hvordan Lyset ligesom drak sig ind i ham og flimred gjennem alle Nerver, medens den køligt berusende Luft ved hvert Aandedrag sendte det sært betagne Blod med vildere og vildere Kraft gjennem de i Magtesløshed dirrende Aarer, og der kom ham en Følelse paa, som om alt det Myldrende, Bristende, Spirende, Ynglende i Vaarnaturen om ham, mystisk søgte at samle sig i ham i eet stort, stort Raab; og han tørsted efter dette Raab, lytted til hans Lytten tog form af en uklar, svulmende Længsel.

Nu, han sad der ved Vinduet, vaagnede Længslen igjen.”
― Jens Peter Jacobsen, Niels Lyhne

“I am still in my twenties so a fear of death is, while reasonable in a macro way, also fairly irrational. Most people live through their twenties. And their thirties. And their forties. Many people live longer than is amusing, even to them. So every time I think about death, when I lie in bed and imagine disintegrating, my skin going leathery and my hair petrifying and a tree growing out of my stomach, it’s a way to avoid what’s right in front of me. It’s a way to not be here, in the uncertainty of right now.”
― Lena Dunham, Not That Kind of Girl: A Young Woman Tells You What She's "Learned"

“I suffered no pain, my hunger had taken the edge off; instead I felt pleasantly empty, untouched by everything around me and happy to be unseen by all. I put my legs up on the bench and leaned back, the best way to feel the true well-being of seclusion. There wasn't a cloud in my mind, nor did I feel any discomfort, and I hadn't a single unfulfilled desire or craving as far as my thought could reach. I lay with open eyes in a state of utter absence from myself and felt deliciously out of it.”
― Knut Hamsun, Hunger

“I was weeping again, drunk on the impossible past.”
― Vladimir Nabokov