Infinite Jest

The hospital room had that misty quality rooms in fevers have.

The sounds of things said beneath blankets, winter beating at the log walls.

Like most incredibly passive people, the girl had a terrible time ever separating details from what was really important to a story,

The snow is now coming down hard enough to compose an environment, and everybody outside the sheltered pavilion looks gauzily shrouded, from Hal’s perspective.

Freer looked down at me. ‘This is nothing to laugh at I don’t think Hal. There’s I swear to fucking God a human strip of forehead-flesh upstairs on the hall window, and what looks like two eyebrows, and bits of nose. And now Tall Paul says down in the lobby Stice was seen coming out of the infirmary wearing something out of Zorro.’

those tiny sad architectural differences that seem to highlight the essential sameness,

no single, individual moment is in and of itself unendurable.

There was a horrible sound. The skin of his forehead distended as we yanked his head back. It stretched and distended until a sort of shelf of stretched forehead-flesh half a meter long extended from his head to the window. The sound was like some sort of elastic from hell. The dermis of Stice’s forehead was still stuck fast, but the abundant loose

mise-en-scène