Chris Benoit

“She'd barely registered as a person at all. She'd been little more than an inconvenient object at the breakfast table, an annoying vase in the way of his sugar bowl, not even worth telling a decent lie to. Soon enough, when she'd lost her fat, she would have more ways to make him pay. For now, the sweetest punishment would be to say nothing, let him think she knew nothing, let him damn himself by telling further lies.”
― Jonathan Franzen, Crossroads

“I looked at the internet for too long today and start.
ed feeling depressed. The worst thing is that I actually think
people on there are generally well meaning and the impulses
are right, but our political vocabulary has decayed so deeply
and rapidly since the twentieth century that most attempis
to make sense of our present historical moment turn out to
be essentially gibberish. Everyone is understandably attached
to particular identity categories, but at the same time largely
unwilling to articulate what those categories consist of, how
they came about, and what purposes they serve. The only
apparent schema is that for every victim group (people bom
into poor families, women, people of colour) there is an oppres-
sor group (people born into rich families, men, white people)
But in this framework, relations between victim and oppressor
are not historical so much as theological, in that the victims are
transcendently good and the oppressors are personally evil. For
this reason, an individual's membership of a particular identity
group is a question of unsurpassed ethical significance, and a
great amount of our discourse is devoted to sorting individu-
als into their proper groups, which is to say, giving them their
proper moral reckoning.”
― Sally Rooney, Beautiful World, Where Are You

“I heard exactly the same thing, a long time ago to be sure, from a doctor,” the elder remarked. “He was then an old man, and unquestionably intelligent. He spoke just as frankly as you, humorously, but with a sorrowful humor. ‘I love mankind,’ he said, ‘but I am amazed at myself: the more I love mankind in general, the less I love people in particular, that is, individually, as separate persons. In my dreams,‘ he said, ‘I often went so far as to think passionately of serving mankind, and, it may be, would really have gone to the cross for people if it were somehow suddenly necessary, and yet I am incapable of living in the same room with anyone even for two days, this I know from experience. As soon as someone is there, close to me, his personality oppresses my self-esteem and restricts my freedom. In twenty-four hours I can begin to hate even the best of men: one because he takes too long eating his dinner, another because he has a cold and keeps blowing his nose. I become the enemy of people the moment they touch me,’ he said. ‘On the other hand, it has always happened that the more I hate people individually, the more ardent becomes my love for humanity as a whole.

...

Love in dreams thirsts for immediate action, quickly performed, and with everyone watching. Indeed, it will go as far as the giving even of one’s life, provided it does not take long but is soon over, as on stage, and everyone is looking on and praising. Whereas active love is labor and perseverance, and for some people, perhaps, a whole science.”
― Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Brothers Karamazov

“That would be interesting. It's interesting to imagine you as a person more or less like me, trying to be good, trying to serve God, but constantly doubting yourself. Rationally, I ought to be able to build on that and find a way to forgive you. But as soon as I put your face to the person I'm imagining, I'm sick with hatred. All I can see is you having it both ways. Getting off on your power and feeling good about the fact that it worries you. Being an asshole and congratulating yourself on your 'honesty' about it. And maybe everyone does that. Maybe everyone finds a way to feel good about their fundamental sinfulness, but it doesn't make me hate you any less. It's the other way around. I hate you so much that I start hating all of humanity, including myself. The idea that you and] are in any way alike--it's disgusting.”
― Jonathan Franzen, Crossroads