Luke

“What was this world? In what petrified and strange insanity was I given to live? Would I survive long enough to find the answer? To find the exit? Would I ever understand, from the core of my loneliness, this otherworldly apparatus that was my life? And suddenly, in the concrete, empty teachers’ lounge—with its large table covered with red cloth, with its cabinet for the registers, with its mold-stained paintings—I was enveloped in a fear that I had never felt before, even in my most terrifying dreams; not of death, not of suffering, not of terrible diseases, not of the sun going dark, but fear at the thought that I will never understand, that my life was not long enough and my mind not good enough to understand. That I had been given many signs and I didn’t know how to read them. That like everyone else I will rot in vain, in my sins and stupidity and ignorance, while the dense, intricate, overwhelming riddle of the world will continue on, clear as though it were in your hand, as natural as breathing, as simple as love, and it will flow into the void, pristine and unsolved.”
― Mircea Cărtărescu, Solenoid

“Every step you take is forever”
― Cormac McCarthy, No Country for Old Men

“I grew up in a beautiful era, now sadly in the past. In it there was great readiness for change, and a talent for creating revolutionary visions. Nowadays no one still has the courage to think up anything new. All they ever talk about, round the clock, is how things already are, they just keep rolling out the same old ideas. Reality has grown old and gone senile; after all, it is definitely subject to the same laws as every living organism — it ages. Just like the cells of the body, its tiniest components — the senses, succumb to apoptosis. Apoptosis is natural death, brought about by the tiredness and exhaustion of matter. In Greek this word means ‘the dropping of petals.’ The world has dropped its petals.”
― Olga Tokarczuk, Drive Your Plow Over the Bones of the Dead

“Perhaps the soul was one of those tools built to do exactly one specific task, to know that I am I, and was mutable with respect to all other forms of knowledge?”
― Jonathan Franzen, Crossroads