“My aloneness had been violated and then made whole again by the violation: time, Anse, love, what you will, outside the circle. […] Sometimes I would lie by him in the dark, hearing the land that was now of my blood and flesh, and I would think: Anse. Why Anse. Why are you Anse. I would think about his name until after a while I could see the word as a shape, a vessel, and I would watch him liquify and flow into it like cold molasses flowing out of the darkness into the vessel, until the jar stood full and motionless: a significant shape profoundly without life like am empty door frame; and then I would find that I had forgotten the name of the jar.”
— William Faulkner, As I Lay Dying