“As you read a book word by word and page by page, you participate in its creation, just as a cellist playing a Bach suite participates, note by note, in the creation, the coming-to-be, the existence, of the music. And, as you read and re-read, the book of course participates in the creation of you, your thoughts and feelings, the size and temper of your soul.”

— Ursula K. Le Guin

Oh Sally my dear, it’s you I’d be kissing
She smiled and replied, "You don’t know what you’re missing"
Oh Sally my dear, I wish I could bed you
She smiled and replied, "Then you’d say I’d misled you"

I cried myself to sleep because of you, and you couldn't care less about my existence.

Close-Up (1990)
-عباس کیارستمی

Now the angel's got a fiddle, the devil's got a harp
Every soul is like a minnow, every mind is like a shark
May have broken every window, but the house
The house is dark, I care but very little
What happens to the heart

"The love of literature, of language, of the mystery of the mind and heart showing themselves in the minute, strange, and unexpected combinations of letters and words, in the blackest and coldest print - the love which he had hidden as if it were illicit and dangerous, he began to display, tentatively at first, and then boldly, and then proudly."
(Stoner, John Williams)