ordinary eternal machinery

like the grinding of the stars
Always one had to convince someone, talk, argue—while one’s only wish was to sleep and to fade out… DARKNESS AT NOON by arthur koestler
too bad

too bad

So much the worse for him who took the comedy seriously, who only saw what happened on the stage and not the machinery behind it. DARKNESS AT NOON by arthur koestler
it happens

it happens

But this isn’t frightening. All this will pass. The sufferings, agonies, blood, hunger and wholesale death. The sword will go away, but these stars will remain when even the shadows of our bodies and our affairs are long gone from this earth. There is not a man who does not know this. So why are we reluctant to turn our gaze to them? Why? WHITE GUARD by mikhail bulgakov
I guess I just figured if I went on living in the usual way, things would kind of work themselves out all right. But they didn’t, did they? THE WIND-UP BIRD CHRONICLE by haruki murakami
They say a name expresses the thing it stands for, but I wonder if it isn’t the other way around—the thing gets more and more like its name. THE WIND-UP BIRD CHRONICLE by haruki murakami
The unchastity of remembering … I want to forget … to forget everything … and I want to be forgotten … THE DEATH OF VIRGIL by hermann broch
and neither was it in the unity of the beautiful nor that of a world’s shimmering loveliness which disclosed itself, no, it was none of these, but rather that of a ringing tide within the incomprehensible, streaming in and out with the night, the unremembered-remembering of a sojourn in which the uncompleted had completed itself, connected with a longing for creation in a last arch-loneliness unspeakably beyond attainment, in an unimaginably fresh recollection of utter cleanliness and chastity THE DEATH OF VIRGIL by hermann broch
On the instant when we come to realise that tragedy is second-hand. THE SOUND AND THE FURY by william faulkner