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“She had always dimly guessed him to be in touch with important people, involved in complicated relations—but she felt it all to be so far beyond her understanding that the whole subject hung like a luminous mist on the farthest verge of her thoughts. In the foreground, hiding all else, there was the glow of his presence, the light and shadow of his face, the way his short-sighted eyes, at her approach, widened and deepened as if to draw her down into them; and, above all, the flush of youth and tenderness in which his words enclosed her. Now she saw him detached from her, drawn back into the unknown, and whispering to another girl things that provoked the same smile of mischievous complicity he had so often called to her own lips. The feeling possessing her was not one of jealousy: she was too sure of his love. It was rather a terror of the unknown, of all the mysterious attractions that must even now be dragging him away from her, and of her own powerlessness to contend with them.”
― Edith Wharton, Summer

“But you are, you know, you were, the nearest thing to a real story to happen in my life”
― Renata Adler, Pitch Dark

“But if we may perish by cracks in things that we don't know.”
― Henry James, The Golden Bowl

“and she loved him still; but the pleasure of shouting “It’s your faultâ€� being the strongest any human being can enjoy, all truths and all feelings were swept along in its wake.”
― Giuseppe Tomasi di Lampedusa, The Leopard