" . . . he felt as though the whole ball with all its hum and noise had become remote: the sounds of the string and brass instruments came from somewhere beyond the mountains and everything was hazy and vague, like a hastily daubed-in background in a painting. And only the fine features of the fair-haired girl, with all the finishing touches, emerged clearly from this sketchy background. Her oval face, her slender waist found only in girls for a very few months after leaving boarding school, her simple white dress that followed the lines of her slender young form, revealed the purity of her figure. She looked like a delicately-carved ivory toy, a single bright white object among the dull, blurred crowd.— "Dead Souls," Nikolai Gogol
" . . . Noticing an empty chair next to them, he sat down without further ado. At first the conversation wouldn't get started, but gradually it did, even gaining momentum."
How in the world has it been so long? I've been rendered dumb by visions of loveliness in times past, but so much time has passed that such times seem but visions of visions. I can remember distinctly, though as through a mist, that odd muting of the ears, the disappearance of surroundings, and the sudden whipping around of the world to revolve around HER. The dry mouth, the inability to move or speak — for a moment only, always just for a slow, interminable moment — and the hot blush that comes of being in such a radiant presence are still familiar, exotic, longed-for feelings.
The impetuity that must needs come to stave off the unworthiness and groveling which so readily spring to the forefront — as nothing is more proper when in the presence of a goddess . . . ah! However, an audacity driven by the need to absorb — and dare I think it, to capture — such beauty makes thoughts of proper reverence to divinity inconceivable. Driven by the knowledge that my instinctive obsequescence would serve only to remove her from me, I plunge foolishly and hopelessly on.