" He came to a tree which spread its shade and murmured over the dry river bed. He leant against it, so that his hat fell back, and his forehead was pressed to the bark. "I love her." He murmured aloud, in a voice that was half a sob, "I love her, I love her I love her" and then sobbed, so that he could stand no longer, but sat in the shade of the tree still, except for the movement which his sobs made, irregularly. When he unclasped his knees, and raised his face, an enormous happiness was to be seen there. He saw nothing, not the leaves, or the great blue dragonfly, or the lizard slipping between the stones in the sun; he saw nothing but the tender and magnificent world; he felt nothing but the sublime relief of allowing himself to love. "

― Virginia Woolf , Melymbrosia