Who has never killed an hour? Not casually or without thought, but carefully: a premeditated murder of minutes. The violence comes from a combination of giving up, not caring, and a resignation that getting past it is all you can hope to accomplish. So you kill the hour. You do not work, you do not read, you do not daydream. If you sleep it is not because you need to sleep. And when at last it is over, there is no evidence: no weapon, no blood, and no body. The only clue might be the shadows beneath your eyes or a terribly thin line near the corner of your mouth indicating something has been suffered, that in the privacy of your life you have lost something and the loss is too empty to share.
— Mark Z. Danielewski, House of Leaves (via larmoyante)
Words do not express thoughts very well. They always become a little different immediately after they are expressed, a little distorted, a little foolish.
— Hermann Hesse (via human-voices)
She always had that about her, that look of otherness, of eyes that see things much too far, and of thoughts that wander off the edge of the world.
— Joanne Harris (via aurevoirlola)
