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Maria

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Villette

by Charlotte Brontë

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(page 1 of 573)
— Sep 13, 2017 02:53AM

Nov 16, 2025 09:40AM

“I spent three full days after that all but walking on the bottom of the sea. I could hardly hear what people said to me, and they had just as much trouble catching anything I had to say. My whole body felt enveloped in some kind of membrane, cutting off any direct contact between me and the outside world. I couldn't touch "them", and "they" couldn't touch me. I was utterly helpless, and as long as I remained in that state, "they" were unable to reach out to me.”
― Haruki Murakami, Norwegian Wood

1 likes

“Life was persistent. There it was, every day. Each morning it woke me up. It was loud and brash. A bully. A lounge singer in a garish sequin dress. A runaway truck. A jackhammer. A brush fire. A canker sore. Death was different. It was tender, a mystery.”
― Ottessa Moshfegh, Death in Her Hands

19 likes

“It was exciting to feel so much spite for somebody. It inspired me; I almost felt like dancing. If I was an artist, I thought, I would paint a huge black-and-red canvas, stabbing with my brush in a frenzy until I fell down on the floor in a heap, sweating and dizzy, the world spinning above me. I wished I could be breathless like that, and for so long I'd believed I couldn't.”
― Ottessa Moshfegh, Death in Her Hands

3 likes

“I can move to the window and see the sky and the clouds above the tall old trees of the park as much as I want. That is the advantage of being alive; maybe not a great advantage, but still.”
― Christa Wolf, Der geteilte Himmel

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“The memories would slam against me like the waves of an incoming tide, sweeping my body along to some strange new place- a place where I lived with the dead. There Naoko lived, and I could speak with her and hold her in my arms. Death in that place was not a decisive element that brought life to an end. There, death was but one of many elements comprising life. There Naoko lived with death inside of her. And to me she said, "Don't worry, it's only death. Don't let it bother you.”
― Haruki Murakami, Norwegian Wood

tags: death

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