Bokelskere.no

She had the febrile gaiety of a being without a past, without a present, yet she existed thus, without memory or history, only because her past was too bleak to think of and her future too terrible to contemplate; she was the broken blossom of the present tense.

The child's laughter is pure until he first laughs at a clown.

Nights had darkened their colour; their irises were now purple, matching the Parma violets in front of her mirror, and the pupils had grown so fat on darkness that the entire dressing-room and all those within it could have vanished without a trace inside those compelling voids.

Walser had not experienced his experience as experience; sandpaper his outsides as experience might, his inwardness had been left untouched.