Helena

“As she made coffee in the kitchen and tried to spoon the frozen ice-cream from its carton without snapping the shaft off the spoon, Elizabeth was struck, not for the first time, by the thought that her life was entirely frivolous.
It was a rush and slither of trivial crises; of uncertain cash-flow, small triumphs, occasional sex and too many cigarettes; of missed deadlines that turned out not to matter; of arguments, new clothes, bursts of altruism and sincere resolutions to address the important things. Of all these and the other experiences that made up her life, the most significant aspect was the one suggested by the words 'turned out not to matter'. Although she was happy enough with what she had become, it was this continued sense of the easy, the inessential nature of what she did, that most irritated her. She thought of Tom Brennan, who had known only life or death, then death in life. In her generation there was no intensity.”
― Sebastian Faulks, Birdsong

“Had I paused to reflect, I would have understood that my devotion to Clara brought me no more than suffering. Perhaps for that very reason, I adored her all the more, because of the eternal human stupidity of pursing those who hurt us the most.”
― Carlos Ruiz Zafón

“However life, unlike art, has an irritating way of bumping and limping on, undoing conversions, casting doubt on solutions, and generally illustrating the impossibility of living happily or virtuously ever after.”
― Iris Murdoch, The Sea, the Sea

“Ik ben mij ervan bewust dat er lieden zijn die geneigd zouden kunnen zijn te beweren dat onze relatie nooit heeft bestaan. Hoewel ik begrijp wat zij bedoelen, moet ik hen met klem tegenspreken. In heel de woelige maalstroom van schijn, fictie en bedrog, waarin niets was wat het leek, was er één ding echt en oprecht, en dat waren mijn gevoelens voor haar. De liefde die ik voor haar heb opgebracht en gekoesterd, was sterk, reëel en welhaast tastbaar zo fysiek in haar effecten op mijn gemoed en gestel dat het banale feit dat ze niet bestond daar niets aan kon veranderen.”
― Ilja Leonard Pfeijffer, Peachez, een romance