'…she prefers always sitting in her room reading.' 'Like me,' replied Léon. 'And indeed, what is better than to sit by one’s fireside in the evening with a book, while the wind beats against the window and the lamp is burning?' 'What, indeed?' she said, fixing her large black eyes wide open upon him. 'One thinks of nothing,' he continued; 'the hours slip by. Motionless we traverse countries we fancy we see, and your thought, blending with the fiction, playing with the details, follows the outline of the adventures. It mingles with the characters, and it seems as if it were yourself palpitating beneath their costumes.'
Gustave Flaubert, Madame Bovary (via tanzimat)