And they turned their parents into animals. These parents were, she observed, exhausted, they were in a state of animal exhaustion. They could not have cared less about themselves or their appearance, they were colourless, as thought the children had sucked out all of their human energy surplus. They had become sexless. the women especially, they seemed milked, dry, drained, desiccated.
The Woman & The Ape - Peter Høeg
She was by that time tired of men… or she imagined that she was, for she was not prepared to be certain, considering the muckers she saw women coming all round her over the most unpresentable individuals. Men, at any rate never fulfilled expectations. They might, upon acquaintance, turn out more entertaining than they appeared; but almost always taking up with a man was like reading a book you had read when you had forgotten that you had reaed it. You ahd not been for ten minutes in any sort of intimacy with any man before you said: ‘But I’ve read all this before…’ You knew the opening, you were already bored by the middle, and, especially, you knew the end.
Parade’s End - Ford Maddox Ford
Sex is not all tits and bums, but til he meets a raver of the intellectual type, a man could be forgiven for thinking otherwise.
The Glade Within The Grove - David Foster
It may have been the smooth passage of the train, or the flat featureless countryside, or his own sandwich-hunger - whatever it was, one of his queer fits of abstraction came over him. Suddenly he felt himself slipping. Not bodily, but mentally. He forgot about cigars, first-class carriages, country-house weekends - everything. His mind went reeling sideways into a somewhere that he did not recognise. He was in the railway train no longer. There were pebbles and coarse sand beneath his feet. And behind him - even though he could not see them he knew that they were there - were bleak jagged cliffs and rolling uplands. And, even though so to speak. he had only just arrived there he know that he was on an island. What was more, he knew that he couldn’t get off: he was a prisoner. At the top of the cliff paths there were strands of barbed wire stretched across the sky and in the shadow of the cliffs behind him an armed guard was standing…
London Belongs To Me - Norman Collins
And yet the body remains a mystery, a book that we have never read. Sera plays with this irony, toys with it as if it were a puzzle: How, despite our lifelong preoccupation with our bodies, we have never met face-to-face with our kidneys, how we wouldn’t recognize our own liver in a row of livers, how we have never seen our own heart or brain. We know more about the depths of the ocean, are more acquainted with the far corners of outer space than with our own organs and muscles and bones. So perhaps there are no phantom pains after all; perhaps all pain is real; perhaps each long-ago blow lives on into eternity in some different permutation and shape; perhaps the body is this hypersensitive, revengeful entity, a ledger book, a warehouse of remembered slights and cruelties.
But if this is true, surely the body also remembers each kindness, each kiss, each act of compassion? Surely this is our salvation, our only hope - that joy and love are also woven into the fabric of the body, into each sinewy muscle, into the core of each pulsating cell.
The Space Between Us - Thrity Umrigar
My God, he said to himself, what begins so romantically, between two human beings, has a tendency to become corrupted and end tragically, in contempt and insults and humiliation, is it always like that?
Necropolis - Santiago Gamboa 
I ran off into the most dismal night of my life," Ignatius sighed. "Fortuna really was spinning drunkenly last night. I doubt whether I can go much farther down.
A Confederacy of Dunces - John Kennedy Toole
She absolutely refused to reveal his name or even his type of work (although she gave him to understand that he had been, in a sense, a man of genius) and Fyodor was secretly grateful to her for this, realising that a ghost with neither name nor environment would fade out more easily - but nevertheless he experienced pangs of disgusting jealousy which he strove not to probe, but this jealousy was always present just around the corner, and the thought that somewhere, somewhen, for all he knew, he might meet the anxious, mournful eyes of this gentleman, caused everything around him to assume nocturnal habits of life, like nature during an eclipse.
The Gift - Vladimir Nabokov
He became silent, looking with his blue eyes far beyond the field stretching away in the sun. I returned the miniature, wondering what in the world had made him open his heart to me. That was something I never did; it was dangerous. First it was dangerous if you ever felt like that about anything, because then you’d never get it or something or someone would take it away from you; then it was dangerous because nobody would understand you and they’d only laugh and think you were crazy.
Invisible Man - Ralph Ellison
For the rest, his lovesick state afforded him all the joy and all the anguish proper to it the world over. The anguish is acute, it has, like all anguish, a mortifying element; it shatters the nervous system to an extent that takes the breath away, and can wring tears from the eyes of a grown man.
The Magic Mountain - Thomas Mann