"Children of her type contrive the purest philosophies. Ada had worked out her own little system. Hardly a week had elapsed since Van’s arrival when he was found worthy of being initiated in her web of wisdom. An individual’s life consisted of certain classified things: "real things" which were unfrequent and priceless, simply "things" which formed the routine stuff of life; and "ghost things," also called "fogs," such as fever, toothache, dreadful disappointments, and death. Three or more things occurring at the same time formed a "tower," or, if they came in immediate succession, they made a "bridge." "Real towers" and "real bridges" were the joys of life, and when the towers came in a series, one experienced supreme rapture; it almost never happened, though. In some circumstances, in a certain light, a neutral "thing" might look or even actually become "real" or else, conversely, it might coagulate into a fetid "fog." When the joy and the joyless happened to be intermixed, simultaneously or along the ramp of duration, one was confronted with "ruined towers" and "broken bridges.""
— Vladimir Nabokov (Ada, or Ardor: A Family Chronicle)

"Charley: What will we do if we get caught?
Liz: If anyone asks, we were just observing the full moon.
Charley: Did I mention I was a werewolf?"
— Liz and Charley

"In the morning I woke like a sloth in the fog."
— Leslie Connor (Waiting for Normal)

"Walls of speech, space inwards--
wound into yourself,
you rave your way to the very last one.

The fog burns off.

The heat sinks in."
— Paul Celan (Glottal Stop: 101 Poems by Paul Celan)