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“He still looked cute enough to justify what was starting to happen, whatever that was.”
― Dennis Cooper, Frisk

“To clutch someone in my arms took on, without fail, a singular sense of indignity, the taste of putrefaction. When I embrace someone I am submerged in a feeling of infamy, in the nauseating sensation of having an orgasm in a charnel house, among the noxious fumes of decomposing flesh. I am revolted by flesh, but this revlusion, failing to deaden the assaults of my libido, merely infects them with a cadaverous terror.”
― Anne Garréta, Sphinx

“I spoke no Spanish, so I was unable to haggle with the taxi-drivers. 'Benengeli,' I said, and the first cabbie shook his head and walked away, spitting copiously. The second named a number that had no meaning for me. I had come to a place where I did not know the names of things or the motives for men's deeds. The universe was absurd. I could not say 'dog', or 'where?', or 'I am a man'. Besides, my head was thick, like a soup.”
― Salman Rushdie, The Moor's Last Sigh

“Darkness descended upon him, and when it lifted he knew that he would never see Kainene again and that his life would always be a candlelit room; he would see things only in shadow, only in half glimpses.”
― Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, Half of a Yellow Sun