Every season of life is an edition that corrects the one before and which will also be corrected itself until the definitive edition, which the publisher gives to the worms gratis.
Machado de Assis, The Posthumous Memoirs of Bras Cubas
All winter the Germans drive their horses and sledges and tanks and trucks over the same roads, packing down the snow, transforming it into a slick bloodstained ice-cement. And when April finally comes, reeking of sawdust and corpses, the canyon walls of snow give way while the ice on the roads remains stubbornly fixed, a luminous, internecine network of invasion: a record of the crucifixion of Russia.
Anthony Doerr, All the Light We Cannot See
The war went from bad to worse and the Government was universally detested. As each fresh catastrophe came to the public’s notice some small share of blame might attach itself to this or that person, but in General everyone united in blaming the Ministers, and they, poor things, had no one to blame but each other— which they did more and more frequently.
― Susanna Clarke, Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell