From the vast, invisible ocean of moonlight overhead fell, here and here, a slender, broken stream that seemed to plash against the intercepting branches and trickle to earth, forming small white pools among the clumps of laurel. But these leaks were few and served only to accentuate the blackness of his environment...

He to whom the portentous conspiracy of night and solitude and silence in the heart of a great forest is not an unknown experience needs not to be told what another world it all is - how even the most commonplace and familiar objects take on another character. The trees group themselves differently; they draw closer together, as if in fear. The very silence has another quality than the silence of the day. And it is full of half-heard whispers - whispers that startle - ghosts of sounds long dead... There are sounds without a name, forms without substance, translations in space of objects which have not been seen to move, movements wherein nothing is observed to change its place.

​Bierce

a particular capacity of line is its capacity to create surface.

​Kandinsky

Feeble traceries of twigs, the past

Thrusts from the black mould of the present

Vince

​

The Atlantic has bitten into the island's neck like a stoat, and will in time consume it all. ​Aran is a dying moment.

Robinson

​All I know is what the words know, and dead things,

 and that makes a handsome little sum,

 with a beginning and a middle and an end,

 as in the well-built phrase and the long sonata of the dead.

 Beckett

​

I even tried to bury myself alive

but the dirt recoiled

you have already rotted it said

there is nothing left for me to do

Kaur