Right when you begin to look at how hard and deep you can look at things, something thrusts at you from around a corner, through all the local differences you forget until he remembers their ordinary, beautiful distortion.
“I went travelling to a wreck of a place. There were three gates standing ajar and a fence that broke off. It was not the wreck of anything else in particular. A place came there and crashed. After that it remained the wreck of a place. Light fell on it.”
Anne Carson | “Short Talk on Where to Travel”