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— Dorothy Parker"Her mind lives tidily, apart from cold and noise and pain. And bolts the door against her heart, out wailing in the rain."
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Pain. I seem to have an affection, a kind of sweettooth for it. Bolts of lightning, little rivulets of thunder. And I the eye of the storm.
— Toni Morrison
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...the problem of space remained, she thought, taking up her brush again. It glared at her. The whole mass of the picture was poised upon that weight. Beautiful and bright it should be on the surface, feathery and evanescent, one colour melting into another like the colours on a butterfly's wing; but beneath the fabric must be clamped together with bolts of iron.
— Virginia Woolf
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