water/books

“In the toils of orgasm—she said, she said—she’d be whelmed in a warm green sea though which, dulled by the murk of it, pass a series of small suns like the footlights of a revolving stage, an electric carousel wheeling in a green ether. Envy’s color is the color of her pleasuring, and what is the color of grief? Is it black as they say? And anger always red? The color of that sad share of ennui called blue is blue but blue unlike the sky or sea, a bitter blue, rue-tinged, discolored at the edges. The color of a blind man’s noon is white, and is his nighttime too? And does he feel it with his skin like a fish? Does he have blues, are they bridal and serene, or yellows, sunlike or ruinous, does he remember? Neural colors like the fleeting tones of dreams. The color of life is water.”

Suttree, Cormac McCarthy