I had the horrible and terrifying impression of living a silent film. Exasperated, I tore off my bandage and buried my pinky into the ear canal; something gave way, a flow of pus gushed out onto my hand and ran onto the neck of my coat. That soothed me a little, but I still could hear almost nothing; the piano, if I turned my ear toward it, seemed to be emitting a watery gurgle; the other ear wasn’t functioning any better; disappointed, I turned aside and slowly walked away.
Jonathan Littell, “Les Bienveillantes”, 2006

Impossible as it seems, the noise grows louder. Call it a noise, why not. One might call it a din, a roar, a clamor, a hammering, a great shriek, a bellow of the gods, but noise is a simple word that serves just as well to describe what has no name. …his recipe for enduring any kind of bombardment is precisely this: drink schnapps, drink cognac, drink brandy, drink grappa, drink whiskey, drink any kind of strong drink, even wine if that’s all there is, to escape the noises, or to confuse the noises with the throbbing and spinning of one’s head.
Roberto Bolaño, “2666”, 2004

Ну да: слух-то – это же воздуха уловитель, его трепета и сказа. Ухо ли глухо? Глух глаз, ухо слепо, тупо на свет… …Поразительно: вся жизнь и работа – стуко-шумовая, так еще и в отдыхе в кафе на танце оглушают предельными децибелами громкости себя и всех. Шумовой апокалипсис. Конец – не света уж, а звука музыкального.
Георгий Гачев, «Музыка и световая цивилизация», 1999