Andrei Rublev, White Material, Three Colors: White
From Wings of Desire
"But why should we spend so much time on Mother Korobochka? Whether it’s Mother Korobochka or Manilov’s wife and whether their problems are of a domestic nature or otherwise, let’s pass them by. For things are indeed arranged wonderfully in this world — the funny will turn suddenly into sad if you just pause in front of it long enough, and then heaven knows what may occur to you. You may even begin to wonder whether Mother Korobochka really occupies such a lowly rung on the human ladder that stretches upward toward perfection" — 68, Dead Souls
"He nodded yes again and wrote on his pad with his silver pencil. Once he had traveled to Ontario, Canada — across the river from Detroit. Canada was so far in the north that the white snow drifted up to the roofs of the houses. That was where the Quints were and the St. Lawrence River. The people ran up and down the streets speaking French to each other. And far up in the north there were deep forests and white ice igloos. The arctic region with the beautiful northern lights.
'When you was in Canada did you go out and get any fresh snow and eat it with cream and sugar? Once I read where it was mighty good to eat that way.'
He turned his head to one side because he didn’t understand. She couldn’t ask the question again because suddenly it sounded silly. She only looked at him and waited.” — The Heart is a Lonely Hunter
Kate and Anna McGarrigle, Les Roses Blanches
”After all, what a lot of contented, happy people there must be! What an overwhelming power that means! I look at this life and see the arrogance and the idleness of the strong, the ignorance and bestiality of the weak, the horrible poverty everywhere, overcrowding, drunkenness, hypocrisy, falsehood… . Meanwhile in all the houses, all the streets, there is peace; out of fifty thousand people who live in our town there is not one to kick against it all. Think of the people who go to the market for food: during the day they eat; at night they sleep, talk nonsense, marry, grow old, piously follow their dead to the cemetery; one never sees or hears those who suffer, and all the horror of life goes on somewhere behind the scenes. Everything is quiet, peaceful, and against it all there is only the silent protest of statistics; so many go mad, so many gallons are drunk, so many children die of starvation… . And such a state of things is obviously what we want; apparently a happy man only feels so because the unhappy bear their burden in silence, but for which happiness would be impossible. It is a general hypnosis. Every happy man should have some one with a little hammer at his door to knock and remind him that there are unhappy people, and that, however happy he may be, life will sooner or later show its claws, and some misfortune will befall him — illness, poverty, loss, and then no one will see or hear him, just as he now neither sees nor hears others. But there is no man with a hammer, and the happy go on living, just a little fluttered with the petty cares of every day, like an aspen-tree in the wind — and everything is all right.” -Chekhov, “Gooseberries”
(MC posted this; I’ve never read it.)
"It didn’t have anything to do with God. This was her, Mick Kelly, walking in the daytime and by herself at night. In the hot sun and in the dark with all the plans and feelings."
"Why hadn’t the explorers known by looking at the sky that the world was round? The sky was curved, like the inside of a huge glass ball, very dark blue with the sprinkles of bright stars. The night was quiet. There was the smell of warm cedars. She was not trying to think of the music at all when it came back to her. The first part happened in her mind just as it had been played. She listened in a quiet, slow way and thought the notes out like a problem in geometry so she would remember. She could see the shape of the sounds very clear and she would not forget them."— from The Heart is a Lonely Hunter