‘What art was there, known to love or cunning, by which one pressed through into those secret chambers? What device for becoming, like waters poured into one jar, inextricably the same, one with the object one adored? Could the body achieve it, or the mind, subtly mingling in the intricate passages of the brain? Or the heart?’
Virginia Woolf
Okay, maybe I’ll give it a go after all. This passage makes me sad that I haven’t read it for myself. Thanks for convincing me!