Marilynne Robinson, from "Gilead"

“Every prayer seemed long to me at that age, and I was truly bone tired. I tried to keep my eyes closed, but after a while I had to look around a little. And this is something I remember very well. At first I thought I saw the sun setting in the east; I knew where east was, because the sun was just over the horizon when we got there that morning. Then I realized that what I saw was a full moon rising just as the sun was going down. Each of them was standing on its edge, with the most wonderful light between them. It seemed as if you could touch it, as if there were palpable currents of light passing back and forth, or as if there were great taut skeins of light suspended between them. I wanted my father to see it, but I knew I’d have to startle him out of his prayer, and I wanted to do it the best way, so I took his hand and kissed it. And then I said, “Look at the moon.” And he did. We just stood there until the sun was down and the moon was up. They seemed to float on the horizon for quite a long time, I suppose because they were both so bright you couldn’t get a clear look at them. And that grave, and my father and I, were exactly between them, which seemed amazing to me at the time, since I hadn’t given much thought to the nature of the horizon. My father said, “I would never have thought this place could be beautiful. I’m glad to know that.”

William Taber, from Four Doors to Meeting for Worship

“Another kind of new perception in the Light is that a person may be led to explore old memories in a dramatically new way, seeing the protecting, guiding hand of God in what seemed an unconnected chain of circumstances, disappointments, disasters, relationships, and small successes. In a similar way, this special state of consciousness sometimes opens up a whole new understanding of cause and effect, or, we might say, it develops and reinforces a whole new range of spiritual common sense. The cumulative effect of these new perceptions is to bring a profound but subtle change in the way we relate to ourselves, to other people, animals, and all created things. Thus, the ultimate test of our response to the Inward Work of Christ lies not in the way we feel during the meeting for worship, but in the way we relate afterward to our fellow humans and to all things in God’s Creation.”

From "The Cure" - John Cheever

“I took a train home, but I was too tired to go to Orpheo’s and then sit through a movie. I drove from the station to the house and put the car in the garage. From there I heard the telephone ringing, and I waited in the garden until the ringing had stopped. As soon as I stepped into the living room, I noticed on the wall some dirty handprints that had been made by the children before they went away. They were near the baseboard and I had to get down on my knees to kiss them.”

John Cheever, from "The Bus to St. James's"

“Lois Bruce, like a great many women in New York, spent a formidable amount of time shopping along Fifth Avenue. She read the advertisements in the newspapers more intently than her husband read the financial section. Shopping was her principal occupation. She would get up from a sickbed to go shopping. The atmosphere of the department stores had a restorative effect on her disposition. She would begin her afternoon at Altman’s—buy a pair of gloves on the first floor, and then travel up on the escalator and look at andirons. She would buy a purse and some face cream at Lord & Taylor’s, and price coffee tables, upholstery fabrics, and cocktail glasses. “Down?” she would ask the elevator operator when the doors rolled open, and if the operator said “Up,” Lois would board the car anyhow, deciding suddenly that whatever it was that she wanted might be in the furniture or the linen department. She would buy a pair of shoes and a slip at Saks, send her mother some napkins from Mosse’s, buy a bunch of cloth flowers at De Pinna’s, some hand lotion at Bonwit’s, and a dress at Bendel’s. By then, her feet and her head would be pleasantly tired, the porter at Tiffany’s would be taking in the flag, the lamps on the carriages by the Plaza would be lighted. She would buy a cake at Dean’s, her last stop, and walk home through the early dark like an honest workman, contented and weary.”

From Jean Eustache's "the mother and the whore" (1973)

“When I’m in a bad mood, I come here. Mostly people just pass through, like a Murnau film. Murnau films are always about the passage: from city to country, day to night. There’s all that here: on the right, trains, the country. On the left the city.”