"I've just discovered that for her, besides God, reality too was very little. She could deal better with her daily unreality, living in sloooow motion, hare leeeeaping through the aaaair over hiiiill and daaaale, vagueness was her earthly world, vagueness was the insides of nature.
   And she thought it was good to be sad. Not miserable, since she'd never felt that way because she was modest and simple but that indefinable thing as if she were romantic. Of course she was neurotic, that goes without saying. It was a neurosis that kept her going, my God, at least that: crutches. Every once in a while she wandered into the better neighborhoods and gazed at the shop windows glittering with jewels and satin clothes -  just to mortify herself a bit. Because she needed to find herself and suffering a little is a way of finding."
The Hour of the Star, Clarice Lispetor