Snowed In

In a snowstorm it always seemed, at least for a time, as though there were no enemies. In a snowstorm the wind could blow a gale; but it blew a white cleanness and the air was full of a driving whiteness and all things were changed and when the wind stopped there would be the stillness. This was a big storm and he might as well enjoy it. It was ruining everything, but you might as well enjoy it.

For Whom the Bell Tolls
Ernest Hemingway

Quiet Sunday

Who doesn’t crave a little refuge (or a loan) at least once in life, especially when you’re young and broke, or old and broke, or moving up, or slipping away? People don’t always need, don’t always want, a clean well-lighted place… But the nice thing about loneliness (and solitude and sadness) is the silence.

Take the Cannoli
Sarah Vowell