Alireza

“If our life were an eternal standing by the window, if we could remain there forever, like hovering smoke, with the same moment of twilight forever painting the curve of the hills… If we could remain that way for beyond for ever! If at least on this side of the impossible we could thus continue, without committing an action, without our pallid lips sinning another word!

Look how it’s getting dark!… The positive quietude of everything fills me with rage, with something that’s a bitterness in the air I breathe. My soul aches… A slow wisp of smoke rises and dissipates in the distance… A restless tedium makes me think no more of you…

All so superfluous! We and the world and the mystery of both.”
― Fernando Pessoa, The Book of Disquiet

“None of them really wanted to listen to someone else’s story anyway; they only wanted to tell their own.”
― Hanya Yanagihara, A Little Life

“Mythology has accepted him, images he cannot really believe in, images brief as dreams. The sweat rolls down his arms. He tumbles into the damp leaves of love, he rises clean as air. There is nothing about her he does not adore. When they are finished, she lies quiet and limp, exhausted by it all. She has become entirely his, and they lie like drunkards, their bare limbs crossed. In the cold distance the bells begin, filling the darkness, clear as psalms.”
― James Salter, A Sport and a Pastime

“عاقبت روی بالش‌ها دراز کشید، مثل این بود که دیگر رمقی برایش نمانده است و درِ هر امیدی به رویش بسته شده است. صورتش را به صورت پریده‌رنگ و بی‌حرکت راگوژین چسباند و اشک از چشم‌هایش بر صورت او جاری شد. شاید اصلا متوجه گریستن خود نبود و از اشک‌هایش هیچ خبر نداشت...”
― Fyodor Dostoyevsky, The Idiot