Psycheinhell

“Voilà, me dis-je alors. Voilà. Sa prière est meilleure que la mienne. Il l’a faite dans la langue des bois, où ne parlent que les sons menus ou immenses des bêtes. La chasse, la naissance, la crainte, la mort, le désir, le défi… tout ici est privé de mots.”
― Léa Silhol, Sous le Lierre

“There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream,
The earth, and every common sight
To me did seem
Apparelled in celestial light,
The glory and the freshness of a dream.
It is not now as it hath been of yore;—
Turn wheresoe’er I may,
By night or day,
The things which I have seen I now can see no more.


—But there’s a tree, of many, one,
A single field which I have look’d upon,
Both of them speak of something that is gone:
The pansy at my feet
Doth the same tale repeat:
Whither is fled the visionary gleam?
Where is it now, the glory and the dream?”
― William Wordsworth, Ode: Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood

“What do you do from morning to night?"

"I endure myself.”
― Emil Cioran, The Trouble With Being Born

“Its deadpan and her sarcasm sailed straight on past each other, strangers passing on a dark road in the night.”
― Nicole Kornher-Stace, Archivist Wasp